
Glass .__ 
Book_ 



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Gonyiiglit]^?- 



COPnUCHT DEPOSm 



POETICAL WORKS 



OR 



Alfred Osmond 



ARRANGED AND PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. 



The trutl-) is a star \.\\^{ is coqstantiL) shiqing; 

We see it qot plaiq, but the fault's in our sight. 

Tl^ere's not enough] force iq tlqe worlds all combining 

To darken one ray of that star's fadeless light. 

When we strengtheq our gaze, it to us will glow brighter, 

Until it will sh|ine like tl]e sun at nooq-day. 

But it always shoqe thus, and 'twill never glow ligliter. 

Because perfect brightness coiT[poses each] ray. .. 

( ftflAR 21 182: 



GEORGE Q. CANNON & SONS COMPANY. PRINTERS, 

Salt Lake City, XJtata. 

1891. 



.0 6 



COPYRIGHT APPLiIED FOR. Qi 



^TO appear before the public as an author is to expose 
^^ one's self to just and unjust criticism of friends 
and foes. Though it would be absolutely impossible for 
me to be passively indifferent as to what may be said 
of the merits and demerits of my poems, still I am, I be- 
lieve, reasonably well prepared to receive all kinds of 
criticism. I am too deeply interested in the cause of 
meritorious literature to have the slightest wish thatany- 
thing that I have produced which would tend to 
tarnish or disgrace it should escape the fate that all 
such literature deserves. A man who will persist in 
cherishing evil within the chambers of his own heart, 
is unreasonable if he believes that success will crown 
the efforts that he may make to purify the hearts of 
others; and he who wishes praise for something that is 
only worthy of condemnation, because it happens to 
be a creation of his own, is more in love with himself 
than he is with the cause of truth. 

In justice to my own taste, I will state that I am 
cognizant of the fact that there are many very serious 
mistakes in this work. But I trust that I shall not be 
accused of being abnormally egotistical when I ex- 
press a conviction that it never will, as a whole, be 
consumed in the fiery furnace of just and intelligent 
criticism. The only excuse that I am desirous of offer- 
ing at present for the mistakes referred to is that many 
of the following poems have been written under very 
unfavorable circumstances. I have been accused by 
some of my friends of being a pessimist, and I am led 



IV. PREFACE. 

to believe that many who read this book will bring 
a similar accusation against its Author. I am con- 
scious of the fact that there are very few poems in this 
collection that do not contain references, either direct 
or indirect, to the subject of death. I am also per- 
fectly willing to admit that extensive writing on this 
subject is evidence of pessimism. I can only ask my 
readers to be charitable enough to believe me when I 
tell them that there are good reasons tor my having 
written so extensively on this subject. I would 
also ask permission to remind them that if I have 
frequently conducted them to the dark valley of 
death, I have not hesitated to guide them by the 
torch of my own faith to those vales beyond the cold 
and silent grave; vales that are illumined with celestial 
brightness by the brilliant rays of light that are con- 
stantly streaming from the glorious orb of heav^en. 
Perhaps the most cogent reason that I can give 
for believing myself to be an optimist is that I am 
striving to be a Christian, and it is scarcely necessary 
to state that a consistent follower of Jesus Christ can- 
not possibly be a pessimist. 

As there is a vast amount of work to be done in 
the field where I have been laboring, and as it is a 
field of honor, I deem it unnecessary to offer an 
apology for having performed the work that God, in 
His infinite goodness and mercy, has enabled me to 
accomplish. The saying that "the harvest is great 
and the laborers are few," can be appropriately used 
in reference to the field of poetry. Many of the great 
poets of the world have never understood even the 
first principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ; and 
hence some of the most beautiful and most fragrant 
flowers that grow in the field of poetry have been 
left "to blush unseen and waste their sweetness on the 
dry, desert air." God has given much to the world, 



PREFACE. 



but, as man has been loth to receive, He has, in His 
infinite goodness and mercy, withheld many of His 
choicest gifts and blessings. When man is prepared 
to receive them, these gifts and blessings will be freely 
showered down upon him. 

I may be considered a fanatic, but I certainly be- 
lieve that greater poets than the greatest of those who 
have made their homes among mortals are now living 
in the celestial mansions of our God, and that they 
are waiting with impatient anxiety for the time to come 
when they will be permitted to mold around them- 
selves caskets of mortality and pour forth, in mortal 
song, the music of their overflowing souls. It requires 
no great effort on my part to believe that they 
will all be sent to 'the earth at the proper time. 
When they do come, their songs will not be the sickly 
sentiments of weak and sensual lovers ; they will not 
be whining complaints addressed to fat and faithless 
mistresses; nor even the eloquent musings of gifted 
infidels. The thrilling numbers of their songs will flow 
forth with such harmony and sweetness that the 
skeptic's spirit will tremble with an undeceivable con- 
sciousness of its own immortality. The burden of the 
muse will then be: The redemption of man wrought 
out by the great God, Jesus Christ; the justice and 
mercy of a kind and aftectionate Father; and the un- 
imaginable and never-ending joys of loved ones when 
they meet, where partings are unknown, in that sweet, 
celestial home of their God. 

The Author. 

December, i8gi. 



COINTTEISTTS. 

Page. 

Ill the Yalley of Prayer, . . . .9 

"To a Lady Weeping," ... 84 

"Home," . . . . .36 

Two Fires, ..... 39 

A Soldier's Confession, . . . .43 

Truth, ...... 45 

The Graves of my Loved Ones, . . .47 

A Prayer, .... 48 

Lines on Leaving Home, . . . .50 

Winter, ...... 51 

A Welcome to Spring, . . . .52 

AVheu I (Taze Xipon Thy Beauty, . . 53 

Flowers. . . . . . .54 

In the Gloom of Death, ... 55 

Inspiration, . . ... . .57 

Reconciliation, . . . . . 59 

A Sad Death, . . . . (iO 

The Dying Christian, .... 61 

Lines Addressed to a Despondent Friend, . 63 

The Purpose of Human Existence, . . 64 
The World in Darkness : — 

Canto the First, .... 72 

Canto the Second, . . . .98 

Canto the Third, . . . 121 

Canto the Fourth, . . . .146 

To a Loved One in Paradise, . . . 186 
Our Deeds Will Follow Us, ... 188 

Sorrow's Lessons, .... 189 



CONTENTS. Vlll 

I'AOE. 

Why Should Ye Falter ? . . . . 191 

Must We Part? .... 192 

The Withered Flowers, .... 193 

To Annie, ..... 194 

Lines Addressed to , . . .196 

The Farmer's Daughter, . . . 197 

"Arise, O My Soul ! " . . . . 19S 

A Jealous Lover, .... 199 

Where I Would Have My Home, . . 200 

Thoughts on Death (A Fragment), . . 201 

Pleasure-Seekers, ..... 205 

Lines to , .... 207 

Lines Addressed to , . . . 208 

Life and Death, 209 

The Battle Between Truth and Error, . .211 

All That is, is For the Best, . . ' . 212 

" The Natal Day of Liberty," . . . 214 

Poetry and Poets ( A Fragment), . . 220 

A Dream's Reality, .... 223 

An Evening in the Grove, . . . 241 
A Christian's Pilgrimage : — 

Canto the First, .... 252 

Canto the Second, .... 259 

Canto the Third. . . . 2S2 

Canto the Fourth, . . . . 2S5 



FOE^^S. 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 

'^^WAS the storms of this life and its troubles and 

^^ care 
That once caused me to seek for the Valley of Prayer. 
As a leaf that floats down on the stream, I was tossed 
On the waves of Life's sea till my spirit was lost. 
It is true that this Vale to my childhood was known; 
But before all the days of my childhood had flown, 
I neglected to visit this fair, lowly Vale, 
And upon Life's great ocean my spirit set sail. 
With the thought that my bark would be wafted away 
To that shore where the night never darkens the day. 

Ah, how weak is a child, and how weak is a man ! 
How great is our God, and how perfect His plan ! 
All the life of the man from the child is concealed ; 
Yet each day that it lives there is something revealed. 
But it knows not the troubles and trials it will meet. 
And it knows not the bitter creates all the sweet. 
It must travel along, gaining strength, gaining grace, 
Till at last it enquires wliy it runs this life's race. 
Then a question is asked, and an answer is given — 
" Thou art here, thou wer't there; but thy home is in 
heaven." 

When the spirit of man left its mansion above, 

Bid adieu to its friends in the household of Love, 

It perchance did not know what it here would pass 

through ; — 
But results of this life were then plain to its view. 

2 



10 IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 

Bright, intelligent souls never shouted for joy, 
At prospects of leaving a home free from alloy, 
Because of the joys that they would tind on this earth, 
But they knew this life's object before mortal birth. 
It was that which caused stars of the heavens to sing; 
It was that which bade souls praise their Savior and 
King. 

Would the soul leave its bright, starry mansion in 

heaven, 
And rejoice because crosses to it would be given? 
Would it sing at the prospects of leaving its God, 
To tread dark paths of grief that all mortals must trod ? 
Would it leave vales of freedom to become a slave ? 
And its cradle of flowers to lie in a grave? 
And because of these changes would it shout for joy? 
And enter the casket that may all hopes destroy? 
That it might feel the joys and the pains of a day 
Throusrh its tano-ible medium of sensual clav. 

Yet the stars sang together, and souls sang for joy : 
Now the latter are here, and their powers employ 
In chasing the shadows that all vanish and fade. 
And in seeking for that which e'en now has decayed. 
Ah, they feel not the ray that illumined their eyes. 
When they stood near God's Throne in the beautiful 

skies; 
And there, standing with Him in His mansion on high. 
All His sons and His daughters who never can die. 
Did rejoice at the prospects of having a birth 
In a world where they might show their valor and 

worth. 

I have groped in the night — I was caught in a snare — 
It is broken — 'tis past, and the Valley of Prayer 
Has been sought, it is found, and I now hope to dwell 
For a while in the Vale that my soul loves so well. 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 11 

I am weary, and long for a few days of rest 
In the Yale where my spirit will not be distressed 
With the noise and contention, the toils and the strife 
That may always be found in a hard, worldly life. 
When my soul has been rested and feels itself strong, 
I shall mingle again with the world's restless throng. 

If we do not take time to enquire and reflect, 

That which ought to be done we shall surely neglect. 

He who toils but to toil is oft toiling in vain; 

He who grieves but to mourn is creating his pain. 

Work should always be done with an object in view — 

We should grieve when we do not that which we 

should do. 
But the body should never be wasted away 
Through the toil that creates what so soon will deca}'; 
And the spirit should not be a slave to its grief, 
For there's much to be done, and this life is but brief. 

Was thy soul ever led to the Valley of Prayer? 

Hast thou entered and gazed on the beauty that's 

there? 
Hast thou plucked the sweet flowers that spring from 

its sod? 
Hast thou knelt there and poured forth thy soul to its 

God? 
Know ye not that thy spirit and body are weak? 
If 'tis strength that you wish, do you know where to 

seek ? 
Go and kneel where the wild flowers wave o'er the 

plain. 
And let penitent tears fall like showers of rain. 
Then the God of thy spirit will give thee relief, 
And you soon will emerge from the river of grief. 

Could I bid the world enter the Valley of Prayer, 
Could I show it the beauty that's blossoming there, 



12 IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 

Could I teach it to kneel on that soft, sacred sod, 
And in meekness implore for the mercy of God I 
There confessing its sins, and imploring for grace; 
With humility's tears washing out its disgrace; 
I believe that the clouds which now over it roll 
Would be lifted, and light would illumine its soul; 
And the great God of heaven, who hears the soul's 

voice, 
Would then make the sad heart of this planet rejoice. 

Can it ever be wrong for the spirit to pray 
To its God, who can give it the sunshine of day ? ' 
Will the Father not comfort His children who weep ? 
Or awake them when in arms of Danger they sleep ? 
Is there nothing but breath in the voice of a prayer? 
Breath that mingles itself with the thin, empty air ? 
Yes, a stranger would think that these things are all 

true. 
For the spirits who enter this Valley are few. 
But it may be that some of them feel themselves 

strong. 
If so, they are the weakest, and do the most wrong. 

But the gates of that Valley are open to all; 

To the prince and the beggar there comes the same 

call; 
And a promise to all who are living is given 
That the prayer for forgiveness will float into heaven; 
That the broad wings of Mercy o'er mortals are 

spread; 
That they float o'er the living, and shine o'er the dead; 
Every soul that repents will be nursed at her breast 
Till it enters the valley of glory and rest. 

Every heart that is crushed by her power will be 

healed: — 
Yet the Valley of Prayer trom the world is concealed. 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 13 

On a soft bed of flowers, on the banks of a stream 
That flows through this fair Vale, I one morning did 

dream. 
The dark shades of the night were fast fleeing away, 
Or were driven from sight by the fair waves of day; 
But a few stars still shone with a soft, lurid light. 
And it seemed that the Day was embracing the 

Mght. 
The powers of the Mght seemed unwilling to leave. 
And at their departure the Day seemed to grieve. 
They were mingling together — but now all is o'er; 
Thay have parted, and traces of night are no more. 

'Tis a morning in spring, and the soft, mellow light 
Is now filling the world that was just wrapt in night. 
Tho' the King of the day has not gazed o'er the hills, 
Yet his warning light beams on the meadows and 

rills. 
The soft dew-drops are hanging like pearls on the 

grass. 
Or are dashed to the ground by the bees as they pass. 
The sweet song of the birds in the distance is heard; 
And my thoughts float too high to be caught by a 

word. 
There is nothing that dwells in the Valley of Prayer 
That is hot healing balm to the heart in despair. 

Never visit this Vale with a soul full of hate; — 
Pause and read, e'er you enter, what floats o'er the 

gate. 
'Twas not written by man, but by angels of God; 
'Tis addressed to all men who may press this dear sod. 
'Twas placed there to be read by the greatest who 

kneel 
There to pour forth to God what from man they 

conceal. 



14 IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 

And all those who are led, or to there have been 

driven, 
Who would have their prayers float through the 

portals of heaven, 
Must write what is written on the leaves of the heart; 
From the word's hidden meaning they must not 

depart. 

To ALL THOSE WHO WOULD ENTER THE YaLLEY OF PrAYER, 

And find that which weak mortals have often found 

THERE : 

" When you ask of your God, you should always believe 

That He can and will give what you wish to receive. 

If you have strength enough, do not ask Him for more; 

For you will not receive it although you implore. 

WliQit He gives you be sure that you put to good use, 

For gifts stay not ivhere they receive naught but abuse. 

If thy soul is convinced 'tis degrading to pray, 

Do not read any more, from this gate turn away." 

" Yes, thy Father can read every thought of thy heart; 

He knows what to withhold. He knows what to impart; 

But 'tis He who commanded man's spirit to pray, 

Yet that spirit is free to refuse or obey. 

Be prepared, e'er you enter, to freely forgive 

All who 'gainst you have sinned on this globe where you live. 

And you must not forget that pride never should dwell 

In the heart nor the soul that desires to pray well. 

Then enter, weak mortal, never doubt, never fear, 

For the God yov approach is a God who can hear." 

Now the King of the day, with his bright crown of 

gold, 
Stands majestic and proud on the hill's summit bold. 
All around him his glory has kindled a flame 
That illumines a face free from weakness or shame. 
And he throws o'er the Vale rays of soft, purple light. 
While the life rocked to sleep in the cradle of night. 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 15 . 

Being startled at first, with a kiss greets each ray, 
As it pauses to bathe in the night's chilly spray. 
And the King, having greeted the Vale with a smile, 
Now commences his work in the same good old style. 

What a pleasure to live where all things are so pure ! 
To the weak, sickly soul what a wonderful cure ! 
I arise from my couch that was spread on the ground, 
And drink in the beauty that is streaming around. 
Just before me there waves a vast ocean of flowers. 
And its coasts are the green groves where fairies build 

bowers; 
There the small, snow-white vessels float over the sea, 
Tho' the breeze scarcely rustles the leaves on the tree. 
Now the King of the day has arisen on high, 
And is hastening along through the realms of the sky. 

When a child, the sweet voice of my soul led me here, 
Then there was not a spot on this earth half so dear. 
And I stand here to-day, not a child, a man grown, 
But no spot on this earth half so dear have I known. 
Had I not to this spot by my Father been led, 
My spirit would live, but my frame would be dead. 
Yes, the prayer of my spirit has floated above, 
And to me there was sent a sweet message of love. 
And I know that what is, is ordained for the best. 
And that he who will labor will some day find rest. 

As I stand by my couch I hear rustling of leaves; — 
'Tis the wind that the powers of my hearing deceives — 
'Tis not so! I hear footsteps, and, turning around — 
Ah ! 'tis Beauty itself kneeling there on the ground, 
While a voice that's as sweet as the voice of a dove 
Mounts the car that bears prayers to "The Mansion of 

Love.'' 
Is it true that the angels float down here to pray ? 
Ah! I would that all "angels, like this one, would stay 



16 IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 

In this "Valley of Tears," where we mortals must dwell, 
Then I'm sure that the sinner would learn to do well. 

Can it be ? 'Tis a mortal, for she is in love 

With a being who lives not in a mansion above; 

But his home has been made on the dark, restless 

wave; 
And she fears that he sleeps in a deep, dismal grave. 
Yet the bright star of hope has illumined her soul, 
As she pours into words thoughts she cannot control. 
Ah! she feels all she says, for the spirit of prayer 
Thrills in every tone as it floats on the air. 
If 'tis earnestness brings down the blessings of heaven, 
Then the choicest of them will to this maid be given. 

" In the Valley I love now before Thee I kneel, 

my Father and God ! to express what I feel. 

All the feelings that thrill through the nerves of my 

heart 
Are, I know, known to Thee, yet I would not depart 
E're I ask Thee to give me the words that I need 
To express every thought, to confess ever}'^ deed; 
And to ask for those gifts that You promise to give 
To Thy sons and Thy daughters wherever they live. 
All the honor and glory to Thee will be given; 

1 approach Thee, my Father, who dwells up in heaven. 

" I confess that my spirit is wayward and weak, 
And, although I have sought for that which I now seek, 
For the strength and the courage to always do right; 
To ignore every thought that does not glow with light; 
To tread under my feet all that does not exalt. 
And to crush into atoms the germs of each fault; 
To prepare all my being for that which will come, 
When I rest from my soul in my sweet, peacefl home; 
Yet from sin and its sorrow my soul is not free; 
^o, the maid is not perfect who kneels before Thee. 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER, 17 

"Oh ! in weakness and meekness before Thee I bow, 
And, Father, please grant what my spirit asks now: 
There is one who has built him a home on the sea — 
(No, he cannot be drowned! he will come back to me!) — 
Who is dearer to me than my life's, wondrous breath; 
And there's nothing I fear in this life like his death. 
I now pray that Thy angels may shield him from 

harm, 
That Thy Spirit may ride on the waves of the storm 
To illumine the cloud that may wave o'er his head, 
And give cheer to his soul when 'tis thrilling with 

dread. 

" Oh! that I, a weak mortal, can call upon Thee ! 
One who rules every storm that has angered the sea ; 
One who sits up above on His bright, gleaming throne, 
And rules over kingdoms that to us are unknown; 
One who speaks! and the mountains descend to the 

plain. 
To engulf worldly glory that shines not again; 
One whose voice in the spirit of man can be heard, 
Yet worlds wither and die by the power of Thy word ! 
Is a blessing that gives me my soul sweetest joy. 
And 'tis one this proud world cannot give nor destroy. 

"If 'twere true that my lover should perish and die, 
Would his spirit not float to its home in the sky? 
Would he not there find friends that were tender and 

true. 
In that home that is old, yet to us it seems new? 
Would his spirit not wait till my spirit flew there? 
Would we not dwell together in realms bright and' fair? 
And the sweet flower of love that we cherished while 

here, 
Would it not still be sweet? Would it not still be dear? 
Ah ! 'tis sweet to remember the soul never dies; 
That it has a dear home in the bright, starry skies. 



18 IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 

"Yes, we are what we are, and shall be what we seem, 
When our spirits awake from mortality's dream. 
And I feel that my soul should be grateful to Thee, 
Tho.' the future should have bitter sorrows for me. 
I am living on earth; — he I love is not dead. 
And Thy blessings have fallen like showers on ray 

head. 
In the tield of the Past there have bloomed fragrant 

flowers; 
They received of Thy sunshine, was cheered by Thy 

showers; 
And if 'neath the white frosts of the future they fade. 
They were flowers; they once bloomed where my weary 

feet strayed. 

"I do thank Thee, my Father, for all I've received ! 
And I thank Thee that what Thou hast taught I've 

believed ! 
I shall dream of the future and think of the past, 
And shall seek for those riches that time cannot blast; 
For I know that Time's door to the just will unfold 
Those bright riches that darken the gleam of earth's 

gold. 
And I pray that my spirit may be with the few 
Who will meet with a smile all they have to pass 

through; 
And wherever 'tis led, or wherever 'tis driven, 
May it follow the path that will lead it to Heaven." 

I stood thrilling with joy that was akin to fear, 

As the waves of that prayer gently rolled in my ear. 

And my heart ceased to beat, and the voice of my 

breath 
Was as still as the silence that reigns over Death. 
I have thought that my spirit had learned how to pray. 
But I never can think so again in life's day. 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 19 

There was something that thrilled in the soul of that 

prayer 
That did speak of a faith that will never despair. 
'Tis a faith that can peer through the dreariest night, 
And can change waves of gloom into billows of light. 

Could the seeds of that faith tind a place in the breast 
Of the world that is heaving with sighs of unrest, 
It would bring forth a fruit that is precious and sweet, 
And would kill the effects of the fruits we now eat. 
And the poisons that flow with the blood through our 

veins. 
That infuse in our spirits their manifold pains, 
Would be purged from our systems, and life's stream 

would flow 
With such health that these caskets with beauty would 

glow. 
'Tis the rust which has gathered on faith's golden 

chain 
That now causes this world a great part of its pain. 

With a sigh of relief the fair maiden arose, 

And now stands where the sun on her beauty bestows 

His bright waves of glory that steal through the trees, 

As they sparkle and wave in the cool morning breeze. 

I desire to advance, but I dare not for fear 

I would startle the maid, who deems no one is near. 

I shall whistle an air — but she hastens away 

E're I make up my mind to persuade her to stay. 

She has vanished from sight like an angel so fair, 

And again I'm alone in the Valley of Prayer*. 

I would say to tliy lover, who sails o'er the sea, 
Be ye true to the maid who is praying for thee. 
If the prayers of an angel can keep thee from harm, 
In the dreariest storm ye need feel no alarm. 



20 IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 

Tho' the waves of the ocean should roll o'er thy head, 
Yet thy form shall not lie with the forms of the dead. 
They may rock thee to sleep, but will bear thee ashore, 
And will give thee to her who is thine evermore. 
Let her love be thy lamp; let her faith be thy star; 
And thy soul will not ride in the Death Angel's car. 

If my bark were afloat on the dark, restless sea, 
And were tossed on the waves like the leaf of a tree; 
If the chariots of thunder around me did roll, 
And the lightning's flash leaped like the flames of the 

soul; 
If I knew there were one here as fair as thy love. 
Who was praying for me to our Father above, 
I would smile at the danger, and laugh at the storm, 
For the shield of her faith would protect me from harm; 
And the star of her love would illumine the wave, 
That else, darkling, might roll o'er the bed of my 

grave. 

'Tis a sight to see Beauty kneel down on the sod, 

And in meekness and weakness commune with its God ; 

For 'tis so often seen on a high, dazzling throne. 

Far above those who worship, proud, radiant, alone. 

And it too often traces the lines of its face; 

Much too conscious it is of its name and its place. 

If it gaze on itself, it will wither and fade. 

If it knows it exists, half its brightness is shade. 

It must unknow itself if it wishes to shine 

With a glory that lasts, with a beauty divine. 

It is well that the flowers that wave in the field 
Cannot see their fair forms in the mirror revealed ; 
It is well they cannot quaff the sweetness that flows 
From the heart and the soul of the blossoming rose. 
All unconscious of beauty, unconscious of worth. 
As thev blossom and wave o'er the face of the earth. 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 21 

Did they dream of the joy that to mortals they give, 
They would tell us without them we never could live. 
Ah, I fear they would drink from the river of pride, 
And, like man, fall to sleep 'neath the waves of its tide. 

And the mountains that frown o'er the low, humble 

vale. 
Were they conscious, I trow they would too tell a tale 
That would cause all the valleys to tremble with fear — 
One that even we mortals would not like to hear. 
They would boast of their grandeur, their beauty, their 

height. 
As they frowned in the darkness or gleamed in the 

light; 
They would tell man that he from their bosom had 

stole 
All the gold that had puiied up his contracted soul. 
We should not like the tale that the mountains would 

tell; 
Ah, 'tis well they are silent; my soul says "tis well. 

O thou dark, deep blue ocean, if thou coulds't but 

boast, 
Then I fear every wave that resounds on thy coast 
Would be pregnant with song that would tell of thy 

fame, 
Till the spirit of man would be humbled in shame. 
Can weak man create aught as majestic as thee, 
O thou dark, restless ocean ! thou deep, boundless sea. 
It is well that thy God did not give thee a voice, 
For man never could then in his glory rejoice. 
Thine own cradle would rock all his glory to sleep; 
He would scarcely have courage to live and to weep. 

O ye planets that dash through the realms of the sky! 
Would 3'e not bid man say what a weak thing am I? 



22 IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 

Would ye not show the beauty that shines here to-day? 
That its brightness must fade and fall into decay? 
Would ye not tell the mighty that they are but dust? 
And teach them the folly of placing their trust 
In the arm that they know will soon wither with age? 
Would ye not teach the lesson that's writ on life's page? 
Would ye not show that greatness belongs to our God? 
And that meekness becomes they who tread mortal 
sod. 

Ko, it can not be taught; it will live in its pride, 
Till 'tis swept in Death's sea by Time's terrible tide; 
It will boast of its greatness till He who is great 
Shall have crushed it in ashes and sealed up its fate. 
If 'twere stripped of its riches, 'twould boast that 

'tis wise ; 
If its wisdom were gone, it would boast of its lies. 
He who will not be taught, has not power to learn; 
And the mind of the world has now taken that turn. 
Yes, this proud world has scorned the instruction 

that's given, 
And destruction must come ere 'tis changed to a 

heaven. 

Ah, 'tis well that there's beauty that knows not its 

worth, 
And grandeur, and greatness that shake not the whole 

earth 
With the hoarse voice of boasting, but silent they stand, 
Crowned with laurels of fame, proud, majestic and 

grand. 
They are what they are, and seek not to deceive. 
As they stand all unconscious of what they believe ; 
And they toil not for glory, nor seek after fame; 
They know no joys of honor, nor sorrows of shame. 
All inanimate beings, yet thrilling with life, 
And they play their own part in life's conflict of strife. 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 23 

ITo, the flowers have not said that there is not a God, 
As they wave like white flags o'er the dark, fertile sod ; 
But today they are budding, tomorrow they bloom. 
Then they wither away in their own leafy tomb, 
Not a sound of complaint, nor a sigh of despair 
Ever rushes along on the Avaves of the air. 
They receive what God gives, and they ask not for 

more ; 
And they give man their sweetness, then die — all is 

o'er. 
They have withered away, the sweet flowers are dead, 
Or have fallen to sleep in their own leafy bed. 

Oh! I would that my soul were as pure as the flowers 
That are warmed by the sunshine and cheered by the 

showers. 
It receives choicest blessings, and should not complain 
Because all of its life is not sunshine and rain. 
Oh! I would that my spirit could learn to receive 
All that falls to its lot without pausing to grieve. 
It depends on its God for its life's wondrous breath; 
'Twill be led by its God through the portals of death; 
It will shine with its God, if it only is true. — 
0, my soul, why complain at the trials ye pass through. 

'Tis the physical flower that withers away; 
But the germ of its life does .not fade and decay. 
And the physical body must sleep in the dust, 
But the spiritual soul is not tarnished with rust. 
Like the life of the flower, it is and will be 
E'en as long as waves roll o'er Eternity's sea. 
There's a dark, dreary gulf between it and its home; 
But the gulf is soon crossed; it will soon cease to roam; 
And the dark clouds of trouble that float o'er its head 
Will be lifted, and light will illumine its bed. 



24 IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 

These thoughts Hit through my mind as I stand there 

alone; — 
They are only a few from the flock that has flown 
Through the vale of my mind, as I stand where the 

maid 
Had communed with her God 'neath the cool, 

spreading shade. 
Since my soul has been wounded with darts of despair, 
I have spent all my time in the Valley of Prayer. 
I shall go forth again 'mid the cares of the world; 
But 'twill be when the flag of my faith is unfurled. 
God alone knows the anguish ray spirit has felt, 
And He knows why before Him that spirit has knelt. 



But the past has flown past, and has vanished from 

sight. 
As I gaze on the future I see a bright light; 
And the mists from my eyes are fast clearing away; 
I have lived through the night, and now welcome the 

day. 
No, I will not, I dare not brood over the past; 
It is something that's gone, but the future will last. 
And the past has not saved me; the future may save; 
With the spade of the Future I'll dig the Past's grave, 
And I'll bury it deep 'neath the low valley's sod : — 
'Tis the path of the future that leads me to God. 

Ah, but all was not grief, I have seen happy days; 
For my spirit once glowed with the fire of love's blaze. 
There is part of the past that I wish to remain; 
But, Past, as a whole, come ye not back again. 
There are flowers in thy field that are tender and 

sweet; 
There are thorns that have torn the soft flesh from my 

feet; 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 25 

There are cool, bubbling springs that have oft quenched 

my thirst; 
There are draughts I have quafied that my whole life 

have cursed : 
So a part of the past I shall bury down deep, 
For it never appears without making me weep. 



Yes, I live in the present and mourn o'er the past; 
But the future has treasures that time can not blast. 
Since the light flowed from heaven in soft, silvery 

waves, 
All the darkness has flown from those dear, sacred 

graves. 
And the tears that are falling are sweet floods of joy; 
They have sprung from a soul that death can not 

destroy. 
Nothing else that's revealed seems to mo half so sweet 
As the truth which has told us that loved ones shall 

meet. 
While that knowledge shall thrill through the nerves 

of the soul, 
It can stand and command, it has strength to control. 



But my thoughts must not lead me from what I would 

say: 
I came not here to think, but I came here to pray. 
I could think, but I know that my thinking is vain ; 
It is God who gives knowledge, 'tis He who heals pain. 
To believe what He says, is the sure -way to learn ; 
To depart from His word, is the same as to turn 
From the sunshine of day to plunge into the night; 
For 'tis He that's the Truth, and the Life and the 

Light. 
And His Spirit illumines the halls of the mind ; 
We depend on its aid for the good that we And. 



26 IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 

Ah, but see ! who are they that descend the steep hill? 
Oh, I dreamed not of this, for I thought not until — 
As I gaze on the throng that descend to the plain, 
From weeping for joy I can scarcely refrain. 
They are rushing along like the waves of the breeze 
To that Valley where angels are resting at ease; 
To that Valley where I, a poor wanderer, found rest ; 
Where the spirit that's meek can commune with the 

blest. 
There's the prince and the slave, there's the dark and 

the fair. 
All are mingling their tears in the Valley of Prayer. 

ISTo, I knew not — I dreamed not that so man}^ prayed. 
For I thought that the world from the custom had 

strayed. 
There were men kneeling there that the world thought 

were strong. 
And they seemed the most earnest of all that vast 

throng. 
Their strong voices were hushed, and tears streamed 

from their eyes, 
As they gazed on the earth and communed with the 

skies. 
And I could not but think that they gained their 

strength here. 
As they poured forth their souls when they deemed no 

one near. 
Then they strode in the world with that courage and 

power 
Which has always made baseness and wickedness cower. 

And I saw the brave patriot unbuckle his blade ; 
All his trappings of war were laid under the shade; 
And he prayed for the cause that he knew to be just — 
That all tyrants might die and be trampled to dust ; 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 27 

That the man who would make of his brother a slave 
Might sleep where no wild flowers would bloom o'er 

his grave. . 
" I care not," said he, "though these veins are drained 

dry, 
I will live to be free, or will perish and die. 
May the white flag of freedom float over this land ! 
I kneel here for my country, for her I will stand. 

"Thou art King of this earth ! Thou cans't strengthen 

my arm ! 
And this cause is Thy cause ! why should I feel alarm? 
I shall welcome the day when the war-drum shall 

sleep , 
But that never can be while in bondage we weep. 
All Thy sons and Thy daughters were born to be free ! 
Yes, Thy banner must wave o'er the land and the 

sea. 
Every tyrant must die, or repent of his ways, 
For the bright orb of freedom has shed forth its 

blaze, 
And that bright orb of glory will never more set: 
They must rise from the dust who in bondage now 

fret. 

" O Thou God of my spirit! my Father, my all, 
I now call upon Thee, hear and answer my call : 
Grant, grant, that the arm that is lifted on high 
Against our righteous cause may soon wither and die ! 
May the spirit that pants for the air of the free 
Now arise from the dust, that the whole world may 

see 
That 'tis useless to fetter the being in chains, 
Who is some day to reign as his Father now reigns. 
May all tyrants and despots in Death's jaws be hurled, 
And the flag of the free proudly wave o'er the world !" 



28 IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 

!Now the strong voice is hushed — he arose from the 

ground, 
And then, casting a swift, fiery glance all around, 
Quicklj^ springs to his armor that glittering lay 
Where the half-shaded sunbeams were wildly at play. 
Then, encased in his armor, he drew forth his sword, 
And there, kneeling, he said, " In the name of the 

Lord 
I now go forth to battle, sustained by His power ; 
May His curse rest upon me if ever I cower!" 
He arose, and his armor was blazing with light, 
As, ascending the hill, he soon vanished from sight. 

Who will think, as he rides at the head of his band. 
Proud and haughty as though he were born to 

command, 
That his unbending soul is the soul of a child ? 
That those fierce e^^es of anger are tender and mild ? 
Who will think, as the blood trickles down that bright 

blade, 
In the Valley of Prayer it was lain 'neath the shade ? 
As his presence illumines the gloom of the field, 
And he rushes in danger where strength is revealed. 
Who will think that his spirit was bowed to the sod ? 
And the strength that he has came direct from his 

God? 

Aye, and after the perils and hardships are o'er. 
When the hoarse drum of war is not heard any more. 
When the slain have been gathered and laid in the 

earth. 
And the laurels of fame have attested their worth ; 
When the sweet dove of Peace spreads his white 

silvery wings. 
And soars o'er the broad lands where the humblest 

are kings ; 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 29 

When the cradle of war rocks the tyrant to sleep, 
And the poor, trembling slave has forgotten to weep. 
Ah, how many will own that the great God of Light 
Was the Captain, the Hero, the Prince of the fight! 

All God's sons and His daughters will yet burst their 

chains — 
Yes, the process is slow, and the blood in our veins 
May be spilled, or may course through its channels 

of life. 
But the victory will come ; there's an end to all strife. 
The brave patriot may fall, but his cause never dies; 
There are others will float from their homes in the 

skies. 
. When the world needs a man, let it seek, it will find ; — 
Man may not always see, but his God is not blind. 
There are troubles for us ere we enter our rest ; 
But that which is ordained, is ordained for the best. 

Ah, I thought as the waves of that terrible prayer 
Rolled along on the waves of the sweet fragrant air, 
'Tis but little we know of the deep, earnest thought 
That oft burns in the souls who for freedom have 

fought. 
And 'tis not much we know of emotions that swell 
In the bosoms of those whom we think we know well. 
Xo, the eye can not see, nor the ear can not hear, 
And the tongue can not tell what we hope, what we 

fear. 
It can never be seen, it can never be heard, 
'Tis too wild to be caught in the snares of a word. 

But the Spirit of God whispers comfort to each, 
'Tis that Spirit that tells us salvation's in reach ; 
'Tis that Spirit that pours in the oil of relief 
When the heart has been torn with the arrows of grief; 



30 IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER, 

'Tis that Spirit that shines in the soul when the gloom 

Is spreading its waves o'er the " Vale of the Tomb;" 

'Tis that Spirit that thrills in the patriot's arm ; 

It directs him aright, and it shields him from harm. 

The assassin may boast, but he never can kill 

One who fights for his God, save it be by His will. 

It was not accidental that victory came 

To the heroes who won for our country its fame. 

It was not accidental that brave men were slain — 

They are resting today free from sorrow and pain. 

And what man is so base that he trembles to die 

In a cause that will live while God's Throne gleams on 

high ! 
Is the honey and Avine of this life made so sweet 
That man dare beg to live 'neath the proud tyrant's 

feet? 
!N^o, the soul better fly to its Father and God, 
Than crawl mingling its tears with the dews of the 

sod. 

God will hear him who prays as the patriot prayed, 
And will fill him with hope, tho' the world be dis- 
mayed. 
He will know that God is, he will know that He lives, 
And his heart will rejoice at the comfort He gives. 
If we all could so live that we never would grieve 
The pure Spirit that each has the right to receive. 
Then the path of our lives would be plain to our view; 
We would know how to live; we would know what 

to do; 
For that Spirit's the torch that illumines the way 
To the home of our spirits so far, far away. 

But the natural man is so stubborn and blind : 

He's too proud to seek that which we all ought to find. 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER, 31 

Tho' he knows he is lost, yet he will not be led, 
But he gropes in the darkness until he is dead. 
He is lost in the forest; one star sheds its blaze — 
There is only one star, why not fix there thy gaze? 
'Tis a star; it gives light; if it does not shine clear, 
Gaze again — take one step; it is there; do not fear. 
See! the valley below is illumined with light, 
Tho' thy forest of Pride is o'er-shadowed with night. 

There is only one way for we mortals to live, 
If we wish to receive what our Father will give: 
We must do what is right; there is no other way; 
There is no other path that will lead us today. 
I must walk by the light that illumines my soul, 
And the voice in my spirit tells me to control 
All my feelings, my passions, my thoughts, my de- 
sires — 
I must do what the voice in my spirit requires. 
Ah, that voice is as sweet as the voice of a dove. 
It persuades — it controls by the power of its love. 

As I gaze on the throng that is kneeling in prayer; 
Each one pleading with God for His mercy and care; 
Each one telling his grief, each confessing his wrong. 
Yet the waves of each prayer thrilling into one song, 
I can not but think that there are mortals near 
Who believe that God is, yet that He does not hear 
And give answers to prayers of His children below. 
But that all was revealed in the Ion"-, Ions: agro ; 
That one book — or a number, contains the whole plan 
Of the Gospel that brings the redemption of man. 

'Tis as easy te teach that our Father don't live. 
As to teach that He is and has no more to give. 
Just because He told men years ago what to do. 
Does it follow He has no instruction for you ? 



32 IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 

Has the truth shrunk so much that 'tis cramped in a 
book? 

Has the deep, boundless river become but a brook ? 

Is there nothing in heaven that still is concealed? 

Is there nothing we need that is not yet revealed ? 

Are there things which we need that we can not re- 
ceive ? 

If there are, we poor mortals have great cause to 
grieve. 

O, ye sons and ye daughters of God, howl and mourn! 
Ye are left to yourselves sad, forsaken, forlorn. 
For the heavens are closed, and your God is asleep ! 
Do not hope, do not smile. Weep ! ye orphans, 

Weep ! 
All the earth has been wrapped in a mantle of gloom — 
Lay your loved ones away in the cold, silent tomb ! 
Look ye not for faith's star, it has faded and set : 
There's no ray to illumine the eyes pained and wet! 
Ye will know them no more — ye may dwell up above, 
But ye never can dwell in " The Mansion of Love." 

And those lips pale and cold, ye sliall never more 

kiss, 
Yet that world up above is much better than this. 
Love exalts and refines, but it can not dwell there — 
Send me back to this earth in " The Valley of 

Prayer." 
Give me here a small cot and my sweet dreams of 

love. 
And I'll scorn thy cold mansion in heaven above. 
No, if Love dwells not there, it is no place for me. 
And in vain I have battled with storms on Life's sea; 
Tears and hopes, prayers and toils, all are useless and 

vain. 
For my heaven is here with my sorrow and pain. 



IN THE VALLEY OF PRAYER. 33 

Ah, if this be not gloom, then I know not the dark. 

I can see not a ray, I can see not a spark; 

For my hope and my strength is that God lives to-day ; 

That the torch of His Spirit notv shines on my way. 

If I know that He is, and is willing to hear, 

It were strange if my spirit should tremble with fear ! 

If I can not trust Him, who is there I can trust? 

Since to know that He is, is to know He is just. 

But if He will not give me the strength that I need. 

There is no room to hope, there is no cause to heed. 

I have wept for the world, but the world scorns my 

tears — 
I am given a name that creates scornful sneers. 
I would wash out with tears every trace of my name. 
And would lay at its feet every laurel of fame ; 
I would ask not for honor, for rank, or for gold. 
Since these things bring not joy, they are cruel and 

cold ; 
And I sometimes have thought I would give my life's 

breath. 
And would gladly go down in the " A^alley of Death," 
If the world would but pause for one moment to hear 
The weak voice that would breathe what it needs in 

its ear. 

But, alas ! there are those who have given their 
wives 

And their children, their homes and their wealth — aye, 
their lives, 

For the sake of that truth which has power to save 

Every being who rides on the breast of life's wave ; 

But, alas ! they have toiled — they have perished in 
vain ; 

The world will not believe — but we must not com- 
plain — 



34 " TO A LADY WEEPING." 

The sweet flowers that bloom in the field of the truth 
Would be cheering to age, would be soothing to 

youth, 
But their " Sweetness must waste on the dry, desert 

air," 
While the world's life is feeding the weed and the tare. 

Grief will come — grief will come, it can not stay away: 
Joy has built her sweet home in the light of the day, 
And although she may wander away from that home. 
And may over the dark vales of wickedness roam. 
Yet she will not stay there; she is sure to return. 
Yes, this truth is too true — let the world live and 

learn : 
She must enter the soul through the gateway of Right, 
And must call when the world is illumined with light. 
If she come in the dark, sneaking through the back 

door. 
Justice bids her depart, and she comes there no more. 
June, 1891. 



"TO A LADY WEEPING." 

.^ADY, weep not at my sorrow, 

Time can never heal this heart ; 
From thy tears no strength I borrow, 
Sorrow will not from me part. 

Ah! I loved those now departed. 
With a love that cannot lie, 
And I feel so broken hearted 
That I oft-times long to die. 



"to a lady weeping." 35 

Is this life to me worth living, 
When my loved ones all have gone? 
Every efiort seems but giving 
Force that helps grief's tide How on. 

In my body dwells a spirit 
That would gladly take its flight, 
And receive its final merit. 
In those realms of love and light. 

When I gaze upon the flowers 
That she trained with tender care. 
Then I dream for long, long hours 
Of my darling, kind and fair. 

When the shades of evening gathered 
Round our then bright happy home. 
We would sit for hours together 
In the darkness all alone; 

But the darkness now seems lonely, 
And the light seems light no more; 
I can think of thee, love, only. 
Wandering to that distant shore. 

Darkness gathers round my pillow. 
But sweet sleep has flown away ; 
Like an angry, foaming billow 
Toss I till the light of day. 

When the somber shades of evening 
Flee before the morning light, 
Then I rise and wander, grieving 
For my loved one fair and bright. 

Ah! sweet dust so cold and silent. 
Must thy beauty fade away ? 



36 " HOME." 

Won't my love so strong and fervent 
Animate that lifeless clay ? 

I am weary — ah ! how weary, 
But in Heaven her rest is sweet ; 
Though life's path be dreary — dreary, 
If I'm true, again we'll meet. 

Lady, weep not at my sorrow 
Time will heal the broken heart ; 
From thy smiles new strength I borrow, 
Sorrow will in time depart. 

Jnhj IS, 18S9. 



" HOME." 

Written by request of the family of the author's friend, David 
Osborne, and read at a party on the 52d anniversary of his birthday 
April 19, 1890. 

^EAR father, husband, faithful friend, 
We gather here that we might spend 
A few short hours in mutual joy; 
For time and toil can not destroy — 
Where e'er in life we're forced to roam, 
The love we feel for this old home. 

'Twas here we spent our childhood's days. 
And when with memory's eyes we gaze 
On that great scene that's called the past, 
And note that time speeds on so fast, 
We feel 'tis true that life's a dream, 
"And that things are not what they seem." 



" HOME." 37 

'Twas here we gathered flowers in spring, 

And made these hills with music rino-. 

Our childish griefs to you were told, 

And, though sometimes you'd storm and scold, 

We've learned since then you are our friend, 

And that you tried our faults to mend. 

We often think of childhood's days, 

Of children's sports, of children's ways. 

And not without a tear and sigh, 

To think those days have all flown by. 

A child can't feel what we feel now, 

But here we are, and humbly bow 

To all the changes time has made, 

For brightest hopes will sometimes fade. 

This fair old home and thy dear face, 
No charms of earth can take their place. 
Talk not to us of lands more bright — 
This is the place we first saw light: 
And when life's light shall fade away 
Before death's twilight cold and gray, 
May that last ray of heaven's light 
That falls upon our withering sight, 
Reflect the image of this spot, 
And all death's fears will be forgot. 

We know your way in future life 
Will not be free from care and strife. 
The path of life is partly trod 
That leads you to your home with God; 
And o'er it shmes a brilliant light, 
'Twill guide you far from error's night. 
But, then, life's battle is not won; 
Look forward now — the tight begun 
When you were born — it rages still. 
And all your power, and all your skill, 



" HOME." 

Combined with all your God will give, 
You'll need while in this life j^ou live. 

'Tis strange that children leave their home, 

And far o'er land and sea will roam ; 

'No other spot they find so dear, 

No other place so free from care. 

But 'tis ordained that all shall part, 

And though grief's tide o'er-flow the heart, 

'Tis sweet to look beyond this life. 

Beyond its cares, its toils and strife 

To that bright hoped for, longed for shore 

Where partings are forever o'er. 

The worst of earth there's nothing here. 
However great, however dear, 
But what must fade and pass away, 
As do the stars before the day. 
This mortal life is but a night, 
Our hopes are stars of lurid light. 
Our faith's the moon that lights the way 
To that bright orb of heaven's day, 
Where angels dwell with God above, 
And all hearts burn with fires of love. 



That is the home we never leave. 

That is the place where none shall grieve ; 

Beyond that dark and deep abyss 

That separates yon world from this. 

Where flowers bloom that never die. 

Where no dark clouds obscure the sky, 

Where weary pilgrims find sweet rest. 

And all who enter there are blest. 

That is the only land that's known 

That ought to claim that sweet name "Home." 



TWO FIRES. 39 



When you are dead and we are dead, 
When mortal tears have all been shed, 
When mortal pains are felt no more, 
When mortal hopes and fears are o'er, 
May you, dear father, find that home. 
And all your children to you come. 
The sorrows that you meet with here 
Will only make that home more dear. 
For all the trials that God has given 
Are but to fit man's soul for heaven. 



TWO FIRES. 



.XlSr man there are two raging fires; 
T They both are fed with strong desires ; 
They both are burning day and night. 
But different are their flames of light. 

The one consumes this mortal clay. 

And in the soul it burns its way. 

It is the passion of the blood. 

And never can it lead to orood. 

At first it is a fiickering flame 

That seems too innocent to name 

A fault; but feed this harmless fire 

With groveling thoughts and strong desire, 

And you will find its glowing flame 

Is not too innocent to name 

A fire of hell; for it will burn 

Until your very soul will yearn 

To quench it, though the cooling flood 

Should waste your frame and chill your blood. 



40 TWO FIRES. 

Its crackling flames and scorching heat 

The noblest aims of life defeat. 

The imps of Satan carry wood 

To feed this fire of boiling blood; 

They laugh to see its flames glow bright, 

And well they may, for 'tis this light 

That guides them to the trembling soul, 

It having lost the right control 

Of that which it was born to rule, 

The pupils now teach life's great school. 

If you would never feed this flame. 
But keep the passions cool and tame, 
Lust not for that which drags you down 
So low that nature seems to frown 
Upon her once loved, happy child. 
When he was pure and undefiled. 
Her flowers will greet you with a sigh ; 
Her happy birds will fly swift by. 
As though they would not linger where 
A being sunk so low would dare. 

O all ye men who love the truth. 

Have pity on misguided youth ! 

And teach the worth of virtue's crown; 

Bring back the wandering bird that's flown, 

On tender wings into the night 

Of error, where each moment's flight 

Will plunge it into clouds of gloom. 

That flee not at the bursting tomb. 

But gather thicker, darker there 

Where all should be so bright and fair. 

And thunders rolling from their gloom. 

Remind the victim of his doom. 

And lightnings, through the darkness riven. 

Will teach his soul the loss of heaven. 



TWO FIRES. 41 

Man cannot laugh his sins away; 
They live when he is mouldering clay. 
A man created like his God, 
If he a certain path will trod, 
In time may shine the same as He — 
That is, frail man a God can be. 
Yes, he may reach that lofty height, 
If he will follow truth's bright light; 
But let him turn from truth away, 
And love the night and scorn the day, 
No living thing e'er could or can 
Descend so low as wondrous man. 

man, feed not this raging tire. 
For though the wicked may admire 
The one who lives the same as they, 
Their flattery cannot make you free; 
The claims of justice will demand 
A retribution at your hand; 
And you will know, however bright 
The fire now burns, there comes a night 
When it will burn itself away, 
And you its victim low will lay — 
So low that Mercy cannot stoop. 
Although her lovely form will droop 
And long to clasp you to her breast 
And lull your weary soul to rest. 

She is a goddess kind and fair. 
With calm, blue eyes and sunny hair; 
And trembling words of love and truth 
Fall from her lips to cheer the youth. 
And those whose locks are white with age 
Forget the sorrows on life's page 
That's writ by Time's unfailing hand, 
And smile at Mercy's sweet command 



42 TWO FIRES. 

To hasten on, nor seek for rest 
Until Death Angel's lips have pressed, 
In tender love, each marble cheek, 
Then rest and joy and comfort seek 
Where it doth dwell, away from earth. 
Where man receives immortal birth. 

Besides this fire of the blood. 
There's one light by the torch of God. 
Before the blood began to flow 
There was a time — so long ago 
That we in memory cannot find 
The power to call this time to mind; 
But God, whose words are gems of truth, 
Has told us of our spirit's youth : 
That we were born in yonder sky. 
And lived with those we loved on high 
Before this world, or mortal frame, 
Had an existence, place or name. 

And in that home far, far above, 

Was light this fire of truth and love. 

It is the furnace of the soul; 

Its function is the right control 

Of all the powers that God e'er gave. 

And with His Spirit's help 'twill save 

This workl and man from toil and pain, 

And take him to his home again. 

It is a lamp of living light 

That beams upon life's dreary night, 

And drives the storm clouds far away. 

And when illumined with one ray 

That streams from God's Eternal Throne, 

It shines forth brighter than the sun. 

Its flame is a consuming fire 

To that of boiling blood's desire; 



A soldier's confession. 43 

And thoughts that spring from evil source, 
To till the soul with dark remorse, 
Cannot grow rank within the breast 
Of him who has a soul that's blest 
With fuel that will feed this flame, 
Which is immortal; 'tis the same 

That glowed— though not in mortal clay 

At dawning of that brilliant day 
When man was told he might descend 
On earth, and here a short time spend 
In gaining strength to onward soar 
To heights he had not known before. 

It teaches man to love the good. 
And is the dew that cools the blood. 
All ye who seek for righteous fame 
Must feed this pure, immortal flame: 
Encourage every noble thought 
And see life's battle bravely fought. 
The frosts of death cool not its heat. 
And earth and hell cannot defeat 
Its upward, onward, heavenward way 
When 'tis unchained from mortal clay: 
When Satan's fires have all burned cold, 
And all things named by Time are old, 
This fire will gleam from God's bright throne 
To light worlds which are now unknown. 
May, 1890. 



A SOLDIER'S CONFESSION 

I hate to prepare for the battle, 
T But I love the confusion of fight; 
For there midst the "War thunder's rattle,' 
Comes the quick inspiration of might. 



44 A soldier's confession. 

I almost forget I am mortal, 
As I wipe the warm blood from the blade 
That Just let a soul through the portal, 
Which its life-killing edge quickly made. 

The blood that I spill brings me glory; 
On the battle field bloom flowers of fame: 
The thicker 'tis strewn with the gory, 
The more honored is each soldier's name. 

To slay till he's slain is the mission 
Of the man who engages to fight; 
To kill is his highest ambition, • 
Whether fighting for wrong or for right. 

'Tis not in the field that I shudder, 
But oft, when the tight has been won, 
I feel that life's boat has no rudder, 
When I think what one short day has done. 

The worms of the earth are now feeding 
On the brave who this morning shone bright; 
And beasts of the forest are speeding 
To the festival spread for the night. 

Thus sets the bright sun of their glory. 
And they never shall hear of their fame 
Till he who has written life's story 
Calls them forth, each brave soldier by name. 

Then justice and mercy will measure 
All their deeds, both the good and the bad; 
And some will receive a bright treasure, 
But others will turn away sad. 

And sometimes I think of that battle 
Which will hush me to sleep with the dead, 
When even the "War thunder's rattle" 
Cannot call back the soul that has fled. 



TRUTH. 45 

And thus on my couch 'neath the willow, 
These sad thoughts through my brain gently steal; 
At dawn there's a tear-frozen pillow 
Testifies that a soldier can feel. 
September 4, 1890. 



TRUTH. 

fT\ ARVEL not that ye are hated 
^h-^ By the people of this world ; 
That fierce storms have ne'er abated 
Since truth's tiag has been unfurled. 
For that banner never fioated 
In a calm and gentle breeze; 
And the world was ne'er devoted 
To such principles as these. 

Talk to men of worldly glory, 
On their folly close your eyes; 
O relate to them a story. 
Written by the "Prince of Lies." 
And you'll see their faces brighten 
With a gleam of jovial joy ; 
But be careful, do not frighten, 
For the truth is not a toy. 

There are those the truth has maddened 
'Till they bathed their hands in blood; 
There are others it has gladdened. 
And they stand as brave men should; 
There are others who are heedless, 
And they pass truth's riches by ; 
Thus proclaiming that 'tis needless 
To be wealthy when you die. 



46 TRUTH. 

Now, the truth was ne'er created, 
And it never can be changed. 
It with saving power is freighted 
When by Deit}^ arranged. 
'Tis a voice that calls from bondage, 
E'en the verest, vilest slave, 
To prepare him for a glory 
That exists beyond the grave. 

And its voice is one of kindness, 
'Tis the soft sweet voice of love; 
Healing all the spirit's blindness, 
Lifting all its powers above ; 
Penetrating all life's darkness, 
Shining through death's dreary gloom, 
Kindly guiding spirits homeward 
From the cold and silent tomb; 

Yet proclaiming to the wicked 
Awful is thy final state; 
Crushing into dust the haughty-, 
Dragging into shame the great; 
Proud and bold,|yet meek and lowly, 
Thundering here and whispering there ; 
Pressing claims of justice slowly. 
But with certainty and care. 

This, in part, is truth's great mission ; 

It has come on earth to stay; 

Worldly pride, and base ambition 

Cannot frighten it away ; 

It has planted seeds that flourish 

In the hearts of living men ; 

Yf ith life's ruddy drops they nourish 

What they teach with tongue and pen. 

Write " Defeated " on the banner 
That's unfurled aijainst the truth I 



THE GRAVES OF MY LOVED ONES. 47 

Write it, too, in blazing letters ! — 

Pause and read it. Age and Youth ; 

For as sure as life's stream dashes 

O'er a firm eternal sod, 

All will yet be crushed to ashes 

Who dare fight 'gainst "Israel's God." 

December 30th, 1890. 



S' 



THE GRAVES OF MY LOVED ONES. 

^5LL my loved ones are quietly sleeping 
^ 'ISTeath the willow that waves o'er yon stream 
O'er their cold beds the wild flowers are creeping 
There the moon sheds her silvery'beam. 

To that lone spot I often-times wander. 
When the night lulls the world's life to sleep; 
O'er the graves of my loved ones I ponder; 
O'er the graves of my dear ones I weep. 

But e'en while my salt tears are flowing, 
There's a something that burns in my breast, 
And, whate'er it may be, its bright glowing 
Lulls my wild, restless soul to sweet rest. 

I have fallen to sleep on those flowers 
That have sprung from that dear, sacred sod, 
And have dreamed away life's sweetest hours 
There alone with my dead and my God. 

In dreams I've been led through death's portal, 
And have entered the valley of rest; 
There I've mingled with beings immortal. 
And have shared in the joys of the blest. 



48 A PRAYER. 

I have sat 'neath the cool, shady bowers, 
Where the evergreen trees gently wave; 
And have gathered those beautiful flowers 
That bloom where there's never a grave. 

And though I oft weep 'neath that willow 
That droops o'er yon clear, crystal stream. 
And though damp, hard and cold is my pillow. 
Yet how sweet are the joys of my dream. 

While this life lasts my griefs dews shall nourish 
Those sweet flowers that bloom o'er their bed; 
And the dear flower of love shall still flourish 
In my soul when my body is dead. 
February 4th, 1891. 



A PRAYER. 

/^H! how weak am I, 
(^ Though a Saint : 
Father, hear my cry. 
Or I faint. 

Give thy Spirit's power 

Unto me ; 
Let thy blessings shower. 

Fast and free. 

Here on bended knee, 

I do wait. 
For the power to see 

Heaven's gate. 

I have wandered far. 
Far from Thee; 

Let thy guiding star 
Beam on me. 



A PRAYEK. 49 

I have thought that hght 

Would not fade; 
It once shone so bright 

Where I strayed, 

That all dreary gloom 

Fled away: 
And beyond the tomb, 

I saw day. 

Leave me not alone, 

Father Dear! 
I am still thine own. 

Calm my fear. 

Give me strength to stand, 

Or I fall; 
Grasp my withering hand, 

Hear my call. 

I have often fought 

For Thy cause; 
And my soul has sought 

For Thy laws. 

And I now would fight. 

Had I power ; 
But I see no light. 

Hence I cower. 

Yet Thy light will come; 

I shall wait; 
It will guide me home 

Tho' I'm late. 

And w4ien all is o'er, 

I shall rest 
On that golden shore. 

With the blest. 



April 9th, 1891. 



50 LINES ON LEAVING HOME. 



LINES ON LEAVING HOME. 

. lUST I leave thee, dear old home? 
'* Yes, I know 'tis for the best ; 
Though I love thee, I shall roam, 
With the hope of finding rest. 

How I toiled when I was young. 
Labored to create this home; 
But the one I loved has gone, 
And I now prepare to roam. 

Father, guide my trembling feet 
Through the dreary w^alks of life; 
Give me strength to bravely meet 
All contending storms of strife. 

She is sleeping in the grave, 

But I know her spirit lives; 

Let Faith's star beam o'er life's wave. 

Let me feel the joy it gives. 

Father, Father! I am weak 
Since my earthly hopes have flown ; 
But I've sought and still do seek 
For a power above my own. 

Thou hast heard my humble pra3^er, 
I have felt Thy Spirit's power: 
Thou hast cheered me with the care 
That the dew-drop cheers the flower. 

I have stood upon the tomb 

Of the one I dearly love, 

And though all around was gloom. 

Brightly shown one star above. 



AVINTER. 51 

And a sweet celestial home 
Has burst on ray spirit's gaze; 
From there I shall never roam 
While my soul with life shall blaze. 

Not below that clear blue dome 

Shall I ever build again; 

For there cannot be a home 

Where there's toil and death and pain. 

I shall ride on fiery cars 
To \vhere orbs of glory shine; 
Far beyond the silvery stars, 
To that brilliant home of mine. 

There my loved ones I shall meet, 
And will never leave them more : 
Father, guide my trembling feet 
Till I reach that golden shore. 



April 14th, 1S91. 



WINTER. 



fTILL the sifting snows are falling ! 
Will the bright spring never come ? 
Weary hearts thy name are calling; — 
Sweet, Spring, do not longer roam. 

Winter, we shall gladly leave you, 

Let us take the parting hand : — 

Do not weep! — We would not grieve you, 

But you do not understand. 

Do not tarry here forever ! 
Yes, we love you — but depart ! 
Do not say that sad word never. 
It has broken many a heart. 



52 A WELCOME TO SPRING. 

Six long months is quite a visit — 
Have you friends beyond the sea? 
And does not their kindness merit 
One short visit now from thee. 

Yes, thou art a generous giver; 
We will own thou art our friend : — 
In thy arms six months we shiver, 
Then we think this thing should end. 

There's a time for thy embraces ; 
You have hugged us near to death ; 
See the cold and care-worn faces 
Blasted with thy cruel breath. 

Winter, Winter ! there is reason 
In all things that were or are ; 
Thou hast stolen half Spring's season, 
Mount, mount ! thy frozen car. 

Well, you look like you were going. 
But you've looked like that before; 
And next-day we've found you snowing. 
So we cannot trust you more. 

Now good-bye, and heaven bless you ; 
Make a visit to the moon ; 
We shall all again caress you, 
If you do not come too soon. 
April 20, 1891. 



A WELCOME TO SPRING. 

[INTER has gone, and the wild birds are singing, 
Flowers are blooming wherever we roam ; 
Life, hope and joy the soft breezes are bringing; 
Sweet Spring, we welcome thee — welcome thee home. 



WHEN I GAZE UPON THY BEAUTY. 53 

School boys are wandering ov^er the mountains, 
Chasing the winged life they startled from rest ; 
Pausing to drink from the clear sparkling fountains, 
Playing the games that their souls love the best. 

Maidens are gathering flowers in the valley, 
Weaving them into sweet garlands of love ; 
Laughing and romping in innocent girlhood. 
Pure as the seraphs that dwell up above. 

See! in yon green grove a gay group are swinging. 
Floating like angels through pure balmy air; 
Or near the top of some tall tree are clinging 
To branches that wave o'er the happy and fair. 

Near them a herd of wild deer are seen feeding, 
Nipping so gently the green, tender blades; 
But now they are startled, and swiftly are speeding 
Through the wild vines that entangle those shades. 

Beautiful Spring, thou hast brought joy and gladness 
To many souls who were drooping with pain ; 
Thou art the sunshine that dries dews of sadness. 
Sweet Spring, we welcome thee home once again. 



WHEN I GAZE UPON THY BEAUTY. 



|HEN I gaze upon thy beauty. 
Reason quickly takes to flight, 
And the guiding star of duty 
Sheds upon my path no light. 

Do not speak to me too kindly ; 
Pest not here those beaming eyes, 
Lest unguarded I rush blindly 
Li that flame where honor dies. 



54 FLOAVERS. 

Yes, I own I love thy beauty, 
But I do not know thy heart; 
And the still, small voice of duty 
Tells me that 'tis best to part. 

May the angels hover near thee, 
May God's Spirit be thy guide I 
Let me as a dear friend love thee, 
Tho' you cannot be my bride. 

May you reach that holy city. 
Where all things are bright and fair ; 
For my heart would break with pity, 
If thy beauty shone not there. 

Let me gaze upon thy beauty ; 
Reason shall not take its flight, 
For the guiding star of duty 
Sheds upon my path its light. 
May oth, 1S91: 



FLOWERS. 



l^E who does not love the flowers 
Q) That are waving in the field — 
Let us hope, has latent powers 
That will some day be revealed. 

ISTo, I dare not think the being 
Who in form is like a God, 
Has not hidden powers of seeing 
Beauty springing from the sod. 

Gaze upon the fairest maiden 
Gliding o'er a fertile plain; 



IN THE GLOOM OF DEATH. 55 

If with flowers she is not laden, 
Kever call her fair again. 

Stand among the fragrant flowers 
With the one you think you love, 
When the soft, ambrosial showers 
Fall from pregnant clouds above; 

If she does not quaff the beauty 
That is streaming all around, 
Be a man, and do your duty — 
She, your love, has not been found. 

Lips that never pressed a flower 
Never gave a tender kiss ; 
Hearts that scorn their magic power 
'Never felt the thrill of bliss. 



J/fl// 14th, 1891. 



IN THE GLOOM OF DEATH. 

[Lines suggested on attending the funeral of Mr. Wahlstrom, a 
young and talented musician who died at his home in Logan, Utah, 
May 21st, 1891.] 

ffiROUND his soul's casket the mourners were weep- 

The soft tears of grief fell like showers of rain, 

As there he lay quietly — quietly sleeping 

The sleep that is rest from all sorrow and pain. 

Yes, tender and kind were the words that were 

spoken. 
But soft streams of sorrow continued to flow; 
And deep sighs burst forth from strong hearts that 

were broken. 
For they all loved the one Death's Angel laid low. 



56 IN THE GLOOM OF DEATH. 

Friends spoke of a world where there's no pain and 

sorrow ; 
They told the young wife that her husband was there, 
And bade her be patient till that bright tomorrow 
When she would be led to that world bright and fair. 

They said that the spirit of man is immortal, 

That tho' its fair casket might perish and die, 

The soul would pass safely through death's gloomy 

portal. 
And float far away to its home in the sky. 

All this she had known, but her spirit was weeping: 
What to her was the loved one must sleep in the tomb. 
And she could not but wish that she was now sleeping, 
In the bed that is always o'ershadowed with gloom. 

In those damp, cold caves all that's mortal must 

perish ; 
All tangible beauty must wither and fade. 
But why mourn for this? when the flowers that we 

cherish 
Now bloom in the gardens their sufl^erings have made. 

Ah ! bright is the light that from heaven is streaming; 
It shines like a star o'er the dark, dismal grave ; 
Tho' the wise world may scorn its celestial beaming. 
It shines in the souls of the good and the brave, 

"W'here — where is the mourner who will not cease 

weeping. 
When pausing to think of the mercies of God ? 
When remembering all who in graves are sleeping 
Will some day come forth from the dark, dreary sod. 

In the image of God His sons are created ; 
They did not spring from the cold, barren dust; 



INSPIRATION. 57 

And when the fierce storms of this life have abated, 
They'll dwell in His presence if they are but just. 

The Gospel of Christ is the power of salvation ; 
Man needs it or else it would ne'er have been given ; 
It is a bright star that illumines creation, 
And shines o'er the path that leads weak man to 

heaven. 
3Ia.y 27th, 1891. 



INSPIRATION. 



[hen the sun of inspiration 
Sheds its light upon the soul, 
And the thoughts of its creation 
Into burning language roll, 
Then the song will always gladden 
Hearts that burn with good desires. 
But it seldom fails to madden 
Hearts that glow with sinful fires. 

"When the voice of inspiration 
Bids a humble mortal speak, 
'Tis the great God of creation 
(Tho' the medium is weak) 
Speaking through that humble mortal, 
Giving counsel to the world, 
Opening wide the only portal 
Where salvation's flag's unfurled. 

Thus it is the meek and lowly 
Oft confound the great and wise ; 
Thus it is the pure and holy 
Draw down wisdom from the skies; 



58 INSPIRATION. 

Thus it is they do not falter 
When the clouds of darkness lower 
All is lain upon the altar 
For the truth that they adore. 

'Tis the sun of inspiration 
That illumes this mortal vale; 
When it sets the world's creation 
Sinks where darkness doth prevail. 
And no torch was ever lighted 
That could drive the gloom away, 
Which falls on a world benighted, 
When that sun sheds forth no ray. 

Its light shines within the spirit 
That is innocent and pure ; 
And we list in vain to hear it 
Murmur, for it can endure 
All the hardships known to mortals 
And will smile while others weep, 
As it enters through the portals 
Where its body falls to sleep. 

As the dew-drop cheers the flower 
So it cheers the drooping soul. 
And in trial's darkest hour 
It illumes the spirit's goal, 
When the sun of inspiration 
Sheds its warm, celestial light 
There is nothing in creation 
That does not seem fair and bright. 
May 27, 1801. 



RECONCILIATION. 59 

RECOlSrCILIATIOK 

fHO' the wine of my life has lost much of its sweet- 
ness 
Since the Death Angel waved his dark plume o'er her 

brow, 
Yet the sweet bird of Time spreads his white wings of 

fleetness, 
And all will be well in a few years from now. 

Yes, the night has been dark, but there dawns a 

tomorrow 
When waves of night's darkness shall flow far away ; 
When my soul shall emerge from the gloom of its 

sorrow, 
And bask in the sunshine of eternal day. 

Oh ! my spirit feels now, and has always felt willing 
To bear all the pain that it has strength to bear, 
But the casket through which its emotions are thril- 
ling 
Is as weak as the voice of a soul in despair. 

But I trust that my Father will strengthen its weak- 
ness, 

That Satan may not weave around me his net; 

That my soul may arise in the strength of its meek- 
ness 

And remember with joy what it cannot forget. 

When the shades of Death's night round my Life's day 

are falling, 
I know that my soul will not thrill with despair; 
But will gladly re-enter the field of its calling. 
Still trusting in Him who has heard every prayer. 



60 A SAD DEATH. 

But it wishes to feel all the pangs that are mortal ; 

It wishes to make every passion a slave, 

Long before its time comes to pass through that dark 

portal, 
Where its frame falls to sleep in the dust of the 

grave. 

Tho' the wine of my life has lost much of its sweet- 
ness 

Since the Death Angel waved his dark plume o'er her 
brow. 

Yet the sweet bird of Time spreads his white wings of 
fleetness. 

And all will be well in a few years from now. 
June 2, 1891. 



A SAD DEATH. 

Lines suggested on hearing that a friend had committed suicide. 

/^H, why did he plunge in the river of death ? 
(^ Those who dwell on this earth cannot know ; 
But, weary of breathing this life's wondrous breath, 
In the grave he has lain himself low. 

But why was he weary? ah, no one can tell. 
For his heart from our gaze was concealed. 
Yet that he was weary we now know too well. 
By his rash act it has been revealed. 

Sweet Mercy will shed many tears o'er his grave. 
But Justice stands haughty and cold ; 
His bark has gone down 'neath the dark, dreary wave, 
And the tale, though 'tis sad, must be told. 



THE DYING CHRISTIAN. 61 

'Twere better to float on the wave of life's sea 
Than to have that wave roll o'er thy head : — 
Our mission is here till our God sets us free ; 
Soon enough we shall rest with the dead. 

Death's cradle will rock every mortal to sleep ; 
We need only to toil and to wait — 
Chain this life to the next, there is no cause to weep 
Whether Death calls us early or late. 

The lily that waves o'er the dark, fertile plain, 
As it nods in the ambrosial breeze, 
Receives the warm sunshine and welcomes the rain 
And it gladdens the hearts of the bees. 

It wounds not itself, but it gives and receives; 

It sighs not for its own leafy bed, 

Then it droops to the earth and is dead. 

Till white frosts have fallen and withered its leaves, 

We mortals should live till the white frosts of Death 

Fall upon us like showers of dew, 

Then freely and quietly give up life's breath. 

As our spirit's home bursts on our view. 

July 8, 1891. 



THE DYING CHRISTIAK 

I AN it be! My blood is freezing — 
Ah ! my eyes are growing dim, 
And the hand of death is seizing 
Every joint in every limb! 

Lay my head upon that pillow — 

I am not afraid to die — 
When I rest beneath the willow, 

Friends and loved ones, breathe no sigh. 



62 THE DYING CHRISTIAN. 

Were my spirit not immortal, 

Then there would be cause to weep ; 

But I gaze beyond the portal 
Where ray body falls to sleep. 

Beings clothed in robes of glory 
Dwell where I ain now to go : — 

I can face my life's short story 
Up above or down below. 

ISTo, the letters are not glowing, 

But they are not very dark; 
And I know where I am going 

When I leave this mortal bark- 
Gather nearer — I am dying, 

Let me kiss you all good-bye, 
For my soul will soon be flying 

Through the realms of yonder sky. 

Quick! I hear the angels calling. 
Give me now the parting kiss : 

Fast the frosts of death are falling, 
But my soul is filled with bliss. 

Now, good-bye — ah ! you are weeping — 
This creates my only pain — 

You are in our Father's keeping — 
Hush ! we all shall meet again. 

See ! the angels are descending 
Nearer — nearer to ray bed — 

Hark ! the waves of song are blending — 
Hush! — The Christian's soul has fled. 

Jtdy 10,1891. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO A DESPONDENT FRIEND. 63 

LDs^ES ADDRESSED TO A DESPONDENT 
FEIEND. 

^\.0 not be a slave to sorrow, 

Grief may wound but cannot kill : 
There will dawn a bright tomorrow, 
Good will bloom from buds of ill. 

Short is life, but long our mission, 
Do not waste thy strength in tears : 
There is joy in just ambition — 
Drive away those foolish fears. 

Doubt is but an imp of Satan, 
Burst his soft, seductive chain: 
Drive him from your humble cabin, 
And he'll carry oif thy pain. 

Everything will shine with beauty. 
If you tread the narrow way; 
Be a slave to humble duty, 
If you wish to live in day. 

Waves of light are o'er you streaming 
From the golden sun of life. 
Yet in darkness you are dreaming 
While your friends rash in life's strife. 

Ah ! thy soul has long been sleeping, 

It is time it did awake : 

Months and months you have been weeping. 

Habit's chain you now must break. 

I have seen warm dews of sadness 
Gush from eyes that glowed with light; 
But they shone with brighter gladness. 
For they cleared their clouded sight. 



fi4 THE PURPOSE OF HUMAN EXISTENCE. 

Hearts are often crushed with sorrow, 
But the spirit should command 
Every thing that makes it narrow 
From its shining path to stand. 

Grief is like a mighty river, | 
Let it in the soul bear sway, 
And it hurls man forth forever 
From the straight and narrow way. 

July 11,1891. 



THE PURPOSE OF HUMAN EXISTENCE.) " 

A lecture delivered at a conference of the Y. M. M. I. A. of the 
Bear Lake Stake of Zion, held in the Stake Tabernacle at Paris, 
Sept. 28, 1890. 

7|tILLIAM SHAKESPEARE says: "What apiece 
^"-^ of work is a man ! How noble in reason ! how in- 
finite in faculty ! in form and moving, how express and 
admirable ! in action how like an angel ! in apprehen- 
sion, how like a god ! the beauty of the world ! the 
paragon of animals." 

The purpose of this wonderful being's mortal ex- 
istence is the subject of my lecture, and I feel no 
hesitancy in stating that the great majority of the 
human family never have in any age understood what 
that purpose is. The great indifference of the human 
family to this important subject is, and always has 
been, apparent to men who think. Millions and mil- 
lions of God's children who have grown up to man- 
hood and womanhood, have passed from the cradle to 
the grave without ever asking themselves why they 
were born. 

For convenience, the peoples of this world may 



THE PURPOSE OF HUMAN EXISTENCE, (35 

be divided into three great classes. The first and 
largest class are those who have never investigated 
this subject. The second class consists of the great 
men of the world who have sought by scientific or 
philosophical means to solve this problem. The third 
and smallest class are those who have been converted, 
and have accepted the Gospel of Jesus Christ, "the 
Son of the living God." 

It is scarcely necessary to state that the first class 
know little or nothing about this matter. 

Men who do not study, do not learn. There are 
those, however, among this class who are placed in 
such distressing conditions that their spirits are 
crushed beneath the heavy burdens of life that they 
are compelled to bear, and they sink into such a state 
of despondency that they do not care who or what 
they are. 

Others of this class hastily conclude that they 
came to the earth to make means ; others are purely 
ornamental, and seem to think that their function in 
life is to flit about and show their gaudy colors, even 
like the beautiful butterfly ; but none of this class have 
earnestly and honestly investigated this subject. "We 
now come to the second class, the great men of the 
world, and we are very much surprised to find that 
they are, if possible, in deeper darkness than the first 
class. 

I stated a moment ago, that men who do not 
study do not learn, and I now feel compelled to state 
that men may study very hard, and still gain but very 
little knowledge. Mental, as well as physical labor, in 
order to produce beneficial results must be wisely di- 
rected. The man who digs for human souls in banks 
of debris is wasting the time and the strength that God 
has given him for nobler purposes, and it would be im- 
possible to estimate the vast amount of physical and 



66 THE PURPOSE OF HUMAN EXISTENCE. 

mental energy that has been worse than wasted by be- 
ing misdirected. So dark have been the clouds ot 
error that have overshadowed the fair face of the earth 
that intellectual giants have for centuries been wander- 
ing about in the " vast wilderness of life," like chil- 
dren lost in a dreary forest. 

In vain they have tried to fan their intellectual 
torches into a blaze. The sable smoke arose from the 
blazeless brands, and increased that gathering gloom, 
until the man did not live who could plant his feet 
upon the firm rock of the truth. The whole human 
family were standing on ground that might at any 
moment give way and precipitate them into that dark 
and dismal abyss that has made the bravest of men 
shudder. 

The brightest light that shone through the dark- 
ness but guided man to the cold and silent grave, and 
there death's victim was left without one ray ot light to 
illumine the dark chambers of his tomb. 

I might take up hours of your time in adducing 
evidence to show that philosophers are, and always 
have been, ignorant of the purpose of human existence, 
but I am compelled to be brief, and will only have 
time to make a few quotations from authors who have 
gained a world-wide celebrity for their intelligence. 
They are among the greatest, and some of them, the 
very greatest of their age. No man admires more than 
I do the noble young Hindoo reformer who made so 
many great sacrifices for the truth. 

He left a court that blazed with such dazzling 
splendor that the inmates knew not the day from the 
night and his beautiful young wife and all the luxuries 
of life to become a poor, despised beggar, and all this 
that he might find the truth. Neither would I ridicule 
the doctrines which he taught. The greater part of 
them are as immaculate as the dew-drops of heaven 



THE PURPOSE OF HUMAN EXISTENCE. 67 

and have elevated millions to a higher plane of moral- 
ity; but there is not in all his teachings the slightest 
explanation of the purpose of human existence, and 
the following quotation from his works w^ill show how 
grossly ignorant he was of this subject. He says : 
"To live knowing that sufierings, illness, old age and 
death are inevitable is not possible. We must get rid 
of life; get rid of the possibility of living." 

Socrates says : " The life of the body is evil and a 
lie, and so the annihilation of that life is a good for 
which we onght to wish." 

Another great man has said : " Life is what it ought 
not to be, ah evil, and a passage from it into nothing- 
ness is the only good in life." Solomon, — when he 
looks through the microscope of philosophy, and for- 
gets that he had ever gazed through the telescope of 
faith, says: " Everything in the world, both folly and 
wisdom, riches and poverty, rejoicing and grief, all is 
vanity and worthless. Man dies and nothing more is 
left of him, and this also is vanity." The whole civilized 
world has resounded with the fame of Voltaire. He 
says: "Who can without horror consider the w^hole 
world as the empire of destruction? It abounds with 
wonders ; it abounds also w^ith victims. It is a vast 
field of carnage and contagion. Every species is with- 
out pity pursued and torn to pieces through earth 
and air and water." 

In man there is more wretchedness than in all the 
other animals put together. He loves his life, and yet 
he knows that he must die. If he enjoys a transient 
good, he suffers various evils, and is at last devoured 
by worms. He spends the transient moments of his 
existence in diffusing the miseries that he suffers, in 
cheating and being cheated, in robbing and being 
robbed, in serving, that he might command, and in 
repenting of all that he does. 



68 THE PURPOSE OF HUMAN EXISTENCE. 

The bulk of mankind are a herd of wretches, 
equally criminal and unfortunate, and the globe con- 
tains rather carcasses than men." Voltaire concludes 
this eloquent complaint by saying: " And I wish I had 
never been born," I need not say that men who use 
such language as this cannot possibly understand the 
real purpose of life. It might be argued that these are 
the sentiments of pessimists, and that there are philo- 
sophers who are optimists, and that they have reached 
entirely different conclusions. That there are philoso- 
phers who present a brighter side to the picture of life 
than the one which has been presented by those I 
have quoted, I am perfectly willing to admit; but I 
state, without the least fear of successful contradiction, 
that the philosopher who has scorned faith, pessimist 
or optimist, has never lived who could tell one of the 
sons of God why he was born. Even in this, the glo- 
rious nineteenth century, when the sun of intelli- 
gence has arisen and lights with dazzling splendor 
mountain peaks that have always been wrapt in clouds 
of darkness, and illumines vales of beauty that have 
never before been exposed to mortal gaze, yet the 
world today, with all its pride and glory, is as ignorant 
of the real purpose of human existence as is an 
unborn babe. 

A short time ago I read the confession of one of 
the greatest and most earnest thinkers that ever lived. 
I refer to Count Lyofi N. Tolstoi. It seems to me 
that the despair which his learning conducted him to 
ought to be a warning to all men. 

In the midst of all his worldly glory, health, 
wealth, fame, a faithful wife, loving and beloved chil- 
dren, the light of the truth began to dawn upon his 
mind, and in a short time he clearly saw that he was 
living a meaningless life. 

A man who has never groped about in the pit of 



THE PURPOSE OF HUMAN EXISTENCE. 69 

despair cannot appreciate the suflerings of his soul. 
His confession is a testimony that cannot lie, that 
human wisdom cannot solve the deep problem of 
human life. I feel thankful that a just and merciful 
God lifted him from the gloom of despair into the sun- 
light of a pure and confiding faith, and I trust that 
through the Gospel of the Son of God his soul may 
yet be saved. 

Under the influence of the warm light of hope, 
he exclaims: "I began to understand that in the 
answers given by faith were to be found the deepest 
Bource of human wisdom, that I have no reasonable 
right to reject them, and that they alone solved the 
problem of life." 

It is with feelings of inexpressible joy and satis- 
faction that I turn from this gloomy picture of life, 
which has been presented to us by the wisdom of man, 
to gaze for a moment on the one presented by Him 
whose ways are not as man's ways, and whose thoughts 
are not as man's thoughts. The picture of life that 
God presents to us shines with such celestial brightness 
that it dazzles our mortal gaze, and in contemplating 
its beauty there is no language that can express the 
admiration that I feel. Man is certainly a wonderful 
being. Shakespeare says he is like a god. The reason 
of this is very plain. Man is the son of God, and it 
would be strange indeed if there were no similarity 
between a father and his son. We must not, however, 
forget that although there is a great similarity, it leaves 
ample room for a great difference. 

God is just, man is unjust; God is merciful, man 
is unmerciful; God loves the truth, man loves a lie; 
God is strong, man is weak; God is wise, man is fool- 
ish; God is the personification of light, man's wicked- 
ness has conducted him into darkness; God is in an 
exalted state, man is in a fallen state. 

It is only just, however, to state that the Father 



70 THE PURPOSE OF HUMAN EXISTENCE. 

has children living upon this earth who are trying to 
become like Him, and who is there that can say, ere 
His endless eternities have all rolled away, they will 
not accomplish this great and glorious object ? 

What does the third class, they who have been 
converted and have accepted the Gospel of Jesus 
Christ, know about the purpose of human existence? 
I assume that they know more about the Gospel than 
does either of the other classes, and as a lucid explana- 
tion of this subject is found in the Gospel, and from 
the fact that nowhere outside of the Gospel can it be 
found, it is only reasonable to conclude that they know 
more about this subject than does either of the other 
classes. There are many truths that never have been 
and never will be revealed to mortal man, simply 
because it is impossible for him while in this state of 
existence to prepare himselt to receive all the truth. 
But the humblest of those who have received the 
Gospel, if they live by what it teaches, understand 
sufficient of the purpose of human existence to give 
mortal life a real and a glorious meaning, and this can 
never be said of the greatest of those who reject it. 

An abundance of evidence may be obtained to 
show that they who believe that life is a tender plant 
that is withered and killed by the frost of death are 
very few. The human soul seems conscious of its 
own immortality. But the sun of pure religion is 
the only sun that shines with brightness through the 
dark clouds of death, and he who draws the blinds of 
sin and prejudice to prevent its rays from shining in 
his soul, however great his intellect may be, that man 
cannot possibly understand the purpose of his life. 

How beautiful, how reasonable, and how complete 
is the explanation that the Gospel gives of this subject- 
Yv^here is the man who has the testimony that Jesus is 
the Christ burning in his soul, who can stand up and 
say, " The life of the body is evil and a lie, and so 



THE PURPOSE OF HUMAN EXISTENCE. 71 

the annihilation of that life is a good for which we 
ought to wish." Or "Life is what it ought not to be, 
an evil and a passage from it into nothingness — the most 
horrible thought that ever entered the brain of a 
human being — is the only good in life." 

The question might be asked : If God is the 
Father of the whole human family, why does He not 
reveal life's purposes to all His sons and daughters 
instead of leaving the great majority of them in igno- 
raftce of that which is so essential for them to under- 
stand ? 

I say this question might be asked; not, however, 
because it is a reasonable question, but because it is an 
unreasonable one, and my limited experience in life 
has taught me that unreasonable questions are the 
ones usually asked by men who are determined that 
they will not receive the truth. 

I do not think there is any man who has a proper 
conception of God and His attributes, who believes 
that He is unwilling to reveal to all His children the 
truth that is necessary to guide them to Him. He has 
manifested this willingness by sending at various 
times in the world's history His servants to preach the 
gospel unto them. The persecutions, the sufferings, 
the violent deaths of these servants are all testimonies 
that He is not only willing, but anxious that His chil- 
dren should be guided by the light of the truth. 

He will not, however, force them to receive that 
light. The free agency of man is not an idle dream, 
it is a stern reality. 

"Know this that every soul is free 
To choose his life and what he'll be ; 
For this eternal truth is given 
That God will force no man to heaven." 

John Milton represents the Deity as saying : "Man 
had of me all that he could have, I have made him 



72 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

just and good, sufficient to stand, though free to fall ; 
and such I created all the ethereal powers and spirits, 
both those who stood and those who fell. Freely they 
stood who stood, and freely they fell who fell." 

The peoples of this world are left without an 
excuse. If they at the present time are wandering 
about in the dark night of error (and they certainly 
are) it is because they love the darkness more than 
they love the light, and not because God is unwilling 
to reveal unto them the truth. 

A man may be exposed to the streaming rays of 
the noon-day sun, but if he closes his eyes he will be 
in darkness, or when the whole world is wrapt in 
waves of darkness, the small flame of a lantern is suf- 
ficient to guide him on the way that he wishes to 
travel. It makes all the difference in the world 
whether he is willing or unwilling to be guided. * * 



© 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Canto the First. 

I. 

RUTH'S rivulets, if followed to their head. 
Will all converge into one common source. 



To learn a truth need fill no man with dread, 
For 'tis a spark that helps illume his course. 
Religion from known truth has no divorce; 
She does not wish — she never can be free. 
But truths, wherever found, she will endorse — 
She is the channel that connects time's sea 
With that vast, boundless deep known as eternity, 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 73 

II. 

I oft have marveled, and do marvel still, 

That man does not give pure religion love. 

A lovely maid ! with such good-natured will; 

She is the sweetest creature known above ; 

Her voice is like the sweet voice of the dove. 

She greets the sufferer with a tender kiss, 

And tells him that he soon will cease to rove; 

And points toward his home of perfect bliss — 

She is just what we need while in a world like this. 

III. 
I've gazed into her soft, celestial eyes ; 
My head has rested on her glowing breast ; 
She hushed my wounded heart's pathetic sighs. 
And lulled my weary soul to peaceful rest. 
To her my bosom sins I have confessed ; 
Her beaming eyes filled with ambrosial tears; 
With greater tenderness she has caressed 
Me when I told her all my doubts and fears — 
I do not wish to live if she e'er disappears. 

IV. 

Ah, how I love that fair, celestial maid ! 

Her tenderness shall never be forgot. 

When all life's sunbeams changed to dreary shade, 

She was the only friend who left me not. 

I sat alone within my humble cot — 

The spirits of my loved ones all had flown — 

This frame would now be crumbling on that spot 

Had not that maiden made her presence known ; 

She never has since then left this sad soul alone. 

V. 

I throw myself into her outstretched arms ! 
The world may laugh and say my spirit's weak. 
But she has won me with her many charms- 
No voice I have but this my heart shall speak. 



74 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

To me life was a desert bare and bleak, 

She changed it to a field of fairest flowers. 

When thou art near my spirit shall be meek ; 

With thee I shall enjoy life's shady bowers; 

My soul is ever thine with all its wondrous powers. 

VI. 

Conduct me where you wish to have me go ; 

With thee my soul shall never know a fear. 

I give thee all I am, because I know 

That I am safe if thou art ever near. 

While life thrills in this soul I'll hold thee dear — 

My spirit hates the world's exalted pride — 

Place in my hand the battle-axe or spear ! 

I care not what if thou art by my side — 

Death took away my love, now thou shalt be my bride. 

VII. 

When frosts of age have fallen on my brow, 

And Time pours cooling draughts in every vein, 

Thou wilt be just as dear as thou art now, 

When dews of youth fall like soft showers of rain. 

Thou hast a balm to heal my keenest pain — 

I know not what time has in store for me. 

Whate'er it is, my soul shall not complain ; 

My spirit will be true to God and thee. 

Until from mortal pains Death's angel sets me free. 

VIII. 

I know thou wilt not weep when I am dead. 

Although I do not — cannot doubt thy love; 

But thou wilt strew my dark and narrow bed 

With fragrant flowers plucked from the fields above. 

And if there's one feels like the parted dove, 

I do commend her to thy tender care; 

Pray guide her, if she e'er is forced to rove. 

Until her spirit floats through balmy air 

To join the one she loves in regions bright and fair. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 75 



IX. 



When in the bed of earth my frame is lying, 
When all that's mortal shall return to dust ; 
When to its destined home my soul is flying, 
E'en then, sweet maid, I'll place in thee my trust. 
My powers of faith shall not within me rust, 
Until the doors of knowledge shall unfold 
The store of truth that's promised to the just; 
The riches that shall far out-shine earth's gold ; 
The joys that can be felt, but never can be told. 

X. 

Existence is not measured by a span ; 

Thy soul and mine shall be forever young. 

Thou hast convinced me that this being, man, 

Has from a Root which is eternal sprung. 

Upon a branch his golden harp he hung. 

And, sighing, left his mansion in the sky. 

To those he loved, he gladly would have clung, 

But life will be more sweet to those who die; 

He knew this when he left his brilliant home on high. 

XI. 

Had ye not come to live with us poor mortals. 

The wisest man in darkness would be lost. 

Man's brightness fades at death's dark, dreary portals; 

He falls like flowers beneath the glistening frost. 

Without thee, every bark of life is tossed 

Upon an ocean that is dark and drear ; 

But thou, fair maid, has guided him across, 

And cheered him when his heart has sunk with fear; 

Thou art more kind and true when danger hovers near. 

XII. 

But I have seen thee wandering in the street, 
Without a place to rest thy weary head. 
Men gazed not on thy face so fair and sweet. 
Save those who shrunk from thee in guilty dread. 



76 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Before thy shining form they quickly fled ; 
They would not hear thy sweet, entreating call. 
But terror seized them as they onward sped, 
Until in gloomy pits they all did fall, 
Then darkness filled the earth, and settled over all. 

XIII. 

Sweet maid, I saw thee weep and turn away, 

Then gaze again, but tears still filled thy eyes. 

I trembled, for I knew you would not stay, 

And dwell with the proud, haughty " Prince of Lies." 

Thy face was turned toward the starry skies. 

I saw thee cast one last, sad look at earth. 

Then mount a car which like the lightning fiies 

Toward that home where angels own thy worth. 

Where spirits dwelt with thee before their mortal birth. 

XIV. 

Thy Advocate, the Savior, had been slain ; 
Weak man was left to grope in gloom of night, 
A slave to doubt, uncertainty and pain. 
For stars that shone gave forth a lurid light. 
From thy bright home did ye behold the sight ? — 
A world engulfed in waves of awful gloom — 
Dids't thou not yearn to take another flight 
To earth ? that withering flowers of hope might bloom 
Within the souls that shrieked while gazing on the 
tomb. 

XV. 

But darker, deeper, rolled the dreary waves. 
E'en stars behind the hills of doubt had set ; 
The bird of fear in life's sea ever laves ; 
The eyes of innocence are pained and wet. 
Within their caskets noble spirits fret. 
Until their caskets burst and set them free; 
But others could not burst their mortal net — 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 77 

They tried to gaze, but ah, they could not see, — 
Thus time's wave rolled them on into eternity. 

XVI. 

Ah, pure Religion, where, 0, where art thou ! . 
An outcast, driven to thy starry home. 
Thy smile no more illumines death's cold brow; 
Mortality thou now art left alone. 
Man, wander forth ! in darkness thou shalt roam ; 
Thy brightest torch is but a blazeless brand ! 
Seek not relief until Prince Death shall come; 
There is no rock on which thy soul can stand ; 
All things that thou cans't grasp will wither in thy 
hand. 



XVII. 



The Holy Ghost that shone within the soul 
Of him who loved the humble Nazarene, 
Had heard the bell which called Him yonder toll. 
And He had flown where mortals have not been; 
His gifts and powers no more were ever seen — 
An evidence that He was not with man — 
The Holy Ghost, the Holy King and Queen 
Had flown from earth; the Gospel's glorious plan 
Did not exist below, still on time's river ran. 

XVIII. 

The Priesthood gives to man a mighty power: 
It is the key which opens wide the door 
To treasures which like lofty mountains tower 
Above those earthly mines that we explore. 
To heavenly archives every man can soar. 
If he has had the Priesthood to him given. 
And when his labors on this earth are o'er. 
Through it he will obtain his only heaven. 
It leads weak man to heights to which he can't be 
driven. 



78 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

XIX. 

Before this world began, the Priesthood was; 
Without beginning — never ending days. 
It is a perfect code of righteous laws, 
That teaches man his Heavenly Father's ways; 
It is the telescope through which we gaze 
Upon our sweet, celestial home of bliss; 
Upon life's night it sheds its glowing blaze; 
Unchains us from a groveling world like this; 
Through it we claim the one which Death's lips fondly 
kiss. 

XX. 

On righteous principles it must be used, 
Or it will drag man down to caves of hell. 
He who this glorious gift has e'er abused 
lias fallen where none others ever fell. 
It lifts man where the holy Gods do dwell — 
If rightly used, that is the bearer's goal. 
Those who know what it is, must know too well 
That if degraded, it will hurl the soul 
Where gleaming waves of fire through endless ages 
\oll. 

XXI. 

On Peter's head a Priesthood was conferred 
Which even gave him power to loose and bind. 
Thus acting, angels heard his every word, 
And 'twas recorded there as with mankind. 
That power came from Him Avho healed the blind. 
It is the Priesthood of the living God. 
Through it we have our faculties of mind; 
Through it our frames are lifted from the sod; 
Through it we yet shall tread where now the angels 
trod. 

XXII. 

A man an agent ot the living God ! 

'J'he thought is bold, but truth is ever brave. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 79 

Man treading where the holy angels trod ! 

Why, certainly ! he is no cowering slave. 

We shall receive all that our spirits crave — 

If what they crave is that which will exalt. 

While Priesthood's flag shall o'er our spirits wave, 

They will be treading in the dust each fault. 

And rising higher, and higher — Oh, let us not revolt ! 

XXIII. 

But Peter and his brethren had been slain ; 
The last of the Apostles now was dead. 
But those who have upon their souls that stain 
Could not confer what rested on each head. 
The light which it within their spirits shed 
Was brought to earth in Eevelation's car; 
And when the last one of their number bled, 
It left the planet where we mortals are — 
Why was it o'er the world there beamed no guiding 
star? 

XXIV. 

The church was built on revelation's rock; 

Through Priesthood held by man truth is revealed. 

That church will then withstand convulsion's shock; 

Its strength and glory cannot be concealed. 

The Savior and His agents had appealed 

To all those whom they had the power to reach 

To come and from disease of sin be healed. 

This is the doctrine which God's servants teach 

In every age when they have been sent out to preach. 

XXV. 

The invitation is to all the world — 
For every man inherits this disease — 
Salvation's flag has been to all unfurled, 
But men must rise from flowery beds of ease ! 
The blood of life must not within us freeze — 



80 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

A mighty God was wounded unto death 
That He the claims of justice might appease, 
And breathe into man's soul eternal breath — 
Man gives Him His reward by scorning what He 
saith. 

XXVI. 

A holy God nailed to a cruel cross ! 

The angels wept when Jesus Christ was slain. 

Refinement there without one drop of dross 

To deaden thrilling pangs of keenest pain. 

Ye w^hoin chains of sin do still remain, 

Blame not the Savior; He has done His part ; 

His precious blood cannot wash out the stain 

That poisons all the chambers of the heart, 

Unless the soul receives the truths which He imparts. 

XXVII. 

But let the curtain fall, I would not weep. 
For 'twas ordained that Jesus Christ should die. 
Before our Father's oft mistaken sleep 
A council of the Gods was called on high. 
And wisdom ruled that council in the sky- 
All that was done w^e may not understand. 
Our weary souls oft ask the question why 
They have been sent to dwell on mortal land. 
They know, in part at least, and firm they ought to 
stand. 

XXVIII. 

But to my tale — a tale, alas! ot woe. 

For all who held the Priesthood passed away. 

The ages come and pause awhile, then go. 

But still there is no sign of breaking day. 

The dreary waves of gloom are still at play 

Along the path of every mortal life. 

If light appears, 'tis an uncertain ray, 

And plunges man into the nets of strife ; 

Each path that mortals treads with misery is rife. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 81 

XXIX. 

But oh, they loved the darkness, or the light 
Would still have thrown o'er earth its silvery waves. 
He who doth love the shadows of the night. 
Will flee with horror from the light which saves. 
A spirit can obtain that which it craves, 
On earth, in heaven, or even down in hell. 
In freedom's ocean it forever laves — 
This truth is true wherever it may dwell; 
Tis true of those who stood, 'tis true of those who 
fell. 

XXX. 

Each spirit ere descending grasped a torch. 
And thrust it in the ever glowing flame. 
That it might have a light while on the march 
Which it would take when placed in mortal frame. 
It floated here — and willingly it came. 
The march, the dreary march, it has begun. 
Where is thy light ? Why hang thy head in shame ? 
JSToray is streaming from the gospel's sun, 
But then, the torch ! the torch ! Has God forgotten 
one ? 

XXXI. 

Not one, not one, the gospel's sun had set; 

The stars have faded, all around is dark; 

The furnace of the soul is burning yet — 

'Tis hard to quench that ever glowing spark. 

No voice without, but pause and listen, — hark ! 

Did ye not hear the plaintive voice within? 

"Make on life's page at least one glowing mark. 

I will conduct thee from the halls of sin; 

Arise! arise! arise! Behold where you have been !" 

XXXII. 

What man who lifts on high the gleaming knife 
To plunge it in a brother's throbbing heart, 



82 THE WOKLD IN DARKNESS. 

Has never known 'twas wrong to take that life, 
Which God alone has power to impart,? 
The tear of true repentance may not start 
Within the eye that gleams with cruel hate; 
But conscience leaves within the soul a dart, 
And justice binds him with the cords of fate; 
In this, or any life, his is an awful state. 

XXXIII. 

"Thou shalt not kill." Remember thou shalt not. 

The savage beasts have never read this law. 

But man has — can it be he has forgot 

His wondrous hand is not a wild beast's paw ? 

When will his frozen spirit ever thaw? 

When will the tire of reason in him burn ? 

In what is perfect he can find a flaw, 

But still he stands cold, ignorant and stern; 

For that which will exalt his spirit doth not yearn. 

XXXIV. 

To natural man the things of God seem strange; 
The Holy Ghost alone can make them plain. 
He having flown, man set about to change 
The truth which then was free from error's stain. 
'Twas hard to lift man to the Gospel plane; 
'Twas easy, though, to let the platform down, 
So low that barbarous tribes would not complain 
In putting on the so-called Christian gown. 
Because the dress was cut to make them smile, not 
frown. 

XXXV. 

A form of godliness they doubtless had, 
But what is that without the living power! 
The burning soul turns from it pained and sad, 
And weeps as it would o'er a withered flower. 
The souls of men would not receive the shower 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 83 

Of blessings which the Holy Ghost did send. 
But now before a lifeless form they cower; 
Before a godless nothing they would bend — 
How could a jealous God remain their guide and 
friend ? 

XXXVI. 

The truths that Jesus taught are very plain, 
Yet who can say they are not broad and deep ? 
When this world frees itself from sin and pain, 
'Twill be when it has learned His laws to keep. 
The wind was sown, the whirlwind man did reap; 
The Gospel seed fell on hard, stony ground; 
The gardners fell into a carnal sleep; 
The harvest came and nothing could be found. 
Save bitter fruit which grew while they were sleeping 
sound. 

XXXVII. 

Great men were living — yes, and they may live 

Until Time's wheels have worn themselves away; 

They cannot to poor, suffering man e'er give 

The light which will conduct him into day. 

Religion left, and long has been her stay; 

And long the world was wrapt in waves of gloom. 

Men will not learn that they must all obey 

The God who burst the fetters of the tomb, 

Before the flower of life within their souls can bloom. 

XXXVIII. 

Without faith man can never please his God, 

Though he may try in every other way ; 

He may with care a path of honor trod. 

And act a noble part in life's great play. 

But if he from this life shall pass away 

Without faith having dwelt within his breast, 

He will not hear the God of heaven say : 

" Well done, my son, receive eternal rest ; 

Thy glory is complete ; dwell here among the blest." 



84 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

XXXIX. 

He learned not that which every man must learn; 

His spirit lives, and it must now be taught; 

But, in this life, the soul of man should yearn 

For tViat which wealth of worlds has never bought; 

Yet every humble man who ever sought 

Has found it, and he knows its priceless worth. 

It gives men strength to fight as none have fought, 

And is a light which shines on death and birth — 

Take it away from life and vain is heaven and eartli. 

XL. 

Believe that God exists, or that He is — 
Why, surely, this is not so hard to do I 
Believe that all the wealth of earth is His — 
Believe it or believe it not, 'tis true — 
Believe that all we know, or ever knew. 
Together with that which we may receive. 
Comes from our God — are evidences few? 
Is this so strange that we should not believe ? 
Why, man, gaze on thyself, and at thy folly grieve. 

XLI. 

Believe that soul can never, never die ; 
Or ask thy soul, can it believe it can? 
Believe that you were born in yonder sky. 
And that this earth is not the home of man; 
Believe that God ordained a perfect plan 
Whereby the soul might live in joy and peace, 
When it had passed from this life's mortal span ; 
Believe this, and thy soul will soon increase 
In everything that's good, and doubt's keen pangs will 
cease. 

XLII. 

I marvel not that men have cursed their birth 
Who first had trained, their souls in unbelief; 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 85 

Who sought in vain upon this little earth 

For something that would give their souls relief. 

The longest mortal life is very brief, 

And he who cannot look beyond the tomb 

Is cold indeed, if he ne'er feels a grief 

That changes this life's sunshine into gloom. 

And withers all the flowers that in life's garden bloom. 

XLIII. 

Belief or unbelief the truth don't change. 
What is, still is, whatever we may think. 
To mortals there are many things that's strange, 
But man should at faith's cooling fountain drink. 
Have faith in God and you will never sink, 
But from the darkness of despair will rise. 
Until your soul is strong, and will not shrink. 
In gazing on your body when it dies ; 
For Faith can always see Death through his dark 
disguise. 

XLIV. 

We should believe the truth because 'tis true. 

If we believe a lie, we are deceived ; 

But truth, believed, will teach us what to do. 

And comfort us whenever we are grieved. 

How can we ever hope to be relieved 

From errors which the very wisest make. 

Unless the Gospel is by us believed ? 

No one but God can point out each mistake ; 

And He alone can tell the soul which path to take. 

XLV. 

We cannot change the truth, but we should know 
The truth, that it may change us — if there's need — 
The seed that in us is no man did sow, 
Nor can man tell us how to grow that seed : 
The germs are there both of the wheat and weed. 
Now, let us train the one with tender care. 



86 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Eow ? God has told man, but he gives no heed ; 
The harvest comes, and what, in truth, is there ? 
A wilderness of weeds that Satan raised with care, 

XLVI. 

He raises them; he knows just how 'tis done. 
He waters them with sorrow's choicest tears ; 
On stony ground that gardeners here would shun, 
With his attention, weeds will grow for years. 
He, with his winning ways, his victim cheers 
With hopes that he a better crop will reap ; 
But 'tis in vain — death comes and with it fears. 
When hope should dwell with all who fall asleep 
That they are going where God comforts all who weep. 

XLVII. 

Our father Adam fell that we might be; 

And we are that we might have 'lasting joy ; 

But joy we cannot have unless we see 

Through those dark clouds of death that so annoy. 

We must know death cannot our souls destroy, 

Or we shall often sink in dark despair ; 

No sweeter knowledge do God's Saints enjoy, 

Than that beyond this life of toil and care 

There is an endless life, where sorrow takes no share. 

XL VIII. 

When driven from their happy, peaceful homes 
By demons — they were given a better name — 
This knowledge like the light of morning comes. 
And lights within their freezing souls a flame. 
When pain their mortal bodies overcame, 
Their souls, still shining with this living light, 
Praised God, while angels wrote each sufferer's name 
In that book that shall blaze before the sight 
Of all who suffer here for God and truth and right. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 87 

XLIX. 

'Tis hard to make an honest man complain, 

When God plants in his soul the Gospel seed. 

When with the blood of Christ, sin's crimson stain 

Is washed away, you see a man indeed: 

Created like his God, he now gives heed 

To what his Father says, and he will rise, 

In weakness, yet with power to onward speed, 

With beaming eyes, toward the starry skies ; 

He has no time to weep, because what's mortal dies. 



Love burns within His soul for all mankind — 

Those who would spill his blood he would not harm — 

A spirit dwells within him that is kind, 

And gives to all his trials a glowing charm. 

The storms of life will not his soul alarm ; 

He knows that God can bring good out of ill, 

Tho' enemies around his path may swarm. 

If God so wills it, they can never kill. 

And he has truly learned subjection to God's will. 

LI. 

" Forgive them for they know not what they do." 

'Tis thus the Holy Ghost has ever spoke. 

Men can not to the cause of truth be true 

Who with their souls a different spirit yoke. 

How oft we see dark malice 'neath the cloak 

Of pure religion ! but it can not hide; 

It may sleep long, but when it is awoke. 

It will o'er all the better feelings ride, 

And bear its victim down where all base things reside. 

LII. 

Men can not always feel as they should feel. 
But when they feel wrong they can all repent. 
If they do not, into their souls will steal 



88 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Their enemy, and there he'll pitch his tent. 
If e'er he leaves, his servants will be sent, 
And they his claims upon them will make strong. 
They care not how much time and toil is spent, 
If they can win men's souls from right to wrong. 
They have increased that power to which they all be- 
long. 

LIII, 

When we remember every man must stand 
Before our Father's righteous judgment bar, 
Can we wish him who has broke God's command, 
And hence is not so good as others are. 
More pain than he must sutler when the star 
Of glory fades before his eager gaze ? 
Ah, no, we ought to follow every car 
That bears a brother where his frame decays, 
With pity, not with hate, though dark has been 
his ways. 

LIV. 

"My yoke is easy and my burden's light." 

Yet who but Jesus could have borne His load ? 

'Twas easy, for he was the Prince of Right, 

And grace and power had been on him bestowed : 

From Him to His Apostles power flowed 

To make weights easy that would crush to death. 

Take that away, and who could tread the road 

That leads men where they breathe immortal breath, 

Beyond this testing state where all we see decayeth. 

LV. 

Great gifts are given to all whom God may choose ; 
The humblest and the weakest are made strong. 
Those called and then rejected do refuse 
To tear themselves away from what is wrong. 
Hence they have not the gifts that do belong 
To every office that God's servants fill ; 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 89 

These powers it is that lift above the throng 
The few who learti subjection to God's will ; 
They are the living lights who suffer so much ill. 

LVI. 

Ye powers that gather round man in his dreams, 
And whisper tender words of love and hope; 
Ye are a lamp of light that brightly beams 
Where weary man in darkness else would grope. 
Could man with all the powers of evil cope, 
Did powers of good not circle him around? 
Ah, no, man does not climb that rocky slope 
Which leads to that bright home where he is bound, 
Save he is helped by powers that on earth are not 
found. 

LVII. 

What was it in Columbus' bosom burned 
That taught him patience when the wise did sneer ? 
That raged within his soul until it yearned 
To face that which all other men did fear ? 
What was it filled his soul with hope and cheer 
When mutinous sailors sought to take his life? 
To him his mission might not have been clear. 
But it is true that no assassin's knife 
Can thwart a plan of God's — learn this and face the 
strife. 

LVIII. 

'Twas not an accident that man was born; 

Nor is it accidental, "man must die." 

We'll not regret that we were called to mourn, 

If we can reach a mansion in the sky. 

We cannot always know the reason why. 

But we should have a living faith in God; 

There's nothing wrong — the soul was born to fly — 

'Tis not ourselves that lie beneath the sod, 

Nor are we left alone this mortal path to trod. 



90 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 



LIX. 



God speaks to man in kindness; he has heard 
His Spirit's still, small voice within his soul; 
He may not list to catch the whispered word, 
ISTor give it chance his actions to control; 
But when the Gospel's preached from pole to pole, 
When every soul has heard His servants' voice, 
The thunders of God's anger then will roll 
O'er all who have not made a righteous choice. 
And drunk from that pure stream that makes the soul 
rejoice. 

LX. 

If God sees fit to use the human voice 
To herald to the world His joyful news. 
Can man find fault because this is His choice ? 
And will he God's own messenger abuse? 
Or will he dare that message to refuse, 
Because, forsooth, no angel brought it there? 
There is the truth, there is the chance to choose! 
And that is all that messengers can bear; 
It is enough to free the soul from Satan's snare. 

LXI. 

The bearer may be clothed in tattered rags, 
His frame may be with pain and sorrow bent, 
And you may scarcely know what 'tis that drags 
Itself toward your palace or your tent; 
But if he by the living God was sent. 
You have no right to turn from him away; 
The hardships he for truth has underwent 
Has, doubtless, blasted all that can decay; 
But still he totters there, he dare not disobey. 

LXII. 

If angels preached the Gospel, they would preach 
The doctrines that God's servants here proclaim ; 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS, 91 

The very power by which His agents teach 

Is on the earth and in the heavens the same. 

It is the message, not the bearer's name, 

That is important, and must be received, 

And he who will reject it is to blame 

For trying to think that he has been deceived. 

When, deep within his soul, he knows he has believed. 

LXIII. 

There is the message ; 'tis a perfect plan ; 
A perfect God will not perfection change. 
It is adapted for the soul of man, 
And, after all, is not complex nor strange. 
As man moves on, and thought takes broader range. 
He finds its roots are deeper than the earth ; 
And its sweet fruit he would not now exchange 
For all the precious gems of priceless worth, 
That give but withering hopes and make but unreal 
mirth. 

LXIV. 

It is as free as is the air we breathe. 

And he who brings it comes with kindly words; 

There are the flowers to weave a fadeless wreath; 

List to that song more sweet than song of birds. 

You still may climb the mountain with wild herds. 

Still muse beside the crystal, sparkling rills; 

And you will feel a joy too deep for words, 

To know that God with life the whole world fills 

And that He resurrects the meanest thing death kills. 

LXV. 

Drink, freely drink, the fountain never drains, 
The springs that feed it never shall flow dry; 
The cooling draught will purge the spirit's stains, 
And feed it with a life that cannot die. 
Go ask the thirsty soul the reason why 



92 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

It will not drink from that cool, crystal stream 
That sparkles as it softly murmurs by 
Where Queen of Night throws her soft, silvery beam 
On beds of fragrant flowers where forest fairies dream. 

LXVI. 

The darkest cloud of life will wear a tinge 

Of deep embroidered gold that will not fade. 

You are a son of God and need not cringe 

Before the enemies your faith has made. 

You will regret that you have so far strayed, 

But will rejoice to know you've found the path; 

And through life's streams of sorrow you will wade, 

Rejoicing that you have escaped the wrath 

That yet will surely fall on "Askelon and Gath." 

LXVII. 

To know there is a sun behind the cloud. 
Is giving strength to bravely face the storm ; 
To know your spirit sleeps not in the shroud 
Of death, that robes your cold and lifeless form 
Is but to know that death does you no harm. 
Why not, then, these sure remedies obtain? 
Will they not give to life a glorious charm? 
And teach you that a loss may be a gain? 
And that to serve is but to qualify to reign? 

LXVIII. 

When at what Joseph taught the world doth sneer. 
It ridicules what came direct from heaven; 
Those truths do still remain as bright and clear 
As when they to the trembling boy were given. 
And tho' the sun from his high throne be driven, 
And leave dependent worlds in gloom of night. 
Those truths that have been stamped on, crushed and 

riven. 
Will yet shine forth and fill this world with light: 
All powers of earth and hell can't keep them from 

men's sight. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. l>3 



LXIX. 



Men close their eyes and try to think they're blind, 

And often will pretend they cannot hear. 

Were this not true, the world to-day would tind 

That clouds of darkness soon would disappear. 

We cannot speak of Joseph but men sneer, 

But if they would but listen, we would tell 

Them things that every mortal man should hear — 

Aye, must hear, if they ever wish to dwell 

With Him who loves this world and all its life so will. 

LXX. 

Keep Joseph from your mind, and hear the truth. 

We never worshiped him, we do not you. 

He had his faults, and so does every youth ; 

But what he told the world was surely true. 

Through him God had a mighty work to do; 

He did it, and we give to Him the praise. 

But Joseph was among the very few 

Who seek with all their souls to know God's ways, 

And in the Book of Life, his name shall ever blaze. 

LXXI. 

You talk of great men who have come to earth 
To hurl the despot from his shameful throne, 
That better nations might be given birth. 
And flourish where the first was overthrown. 
A prophet comes, but him ye will not own. 
Yet who is greater on the earth than he ? 
'Tis strange that to the world he is unknown ! 
E'en when what he predicts men plainly see. 
They even then forgut the prophet said 'twould be. 

l.XXII. 

One day the world despised the Nazarene, 
And pious saints declared His doctrines vile. 
A change has come. His mother is a queen, 
And millions are made happy by her smile. 



04 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

He is a God ! and free from sin and gnile, 

And what He taught has now become so true 

That it will stretch and make its own denial, 

When it is changed by the selected few, 

Who tell us what it means, as though we never knew. 

LXXIII. 

Men worship Him because He is not here. 
They never hear His voice rebuke their pride ; 
But ministers now make his doctrines clear. 
And smoothly down life's stream they all do glide. 
The narrow way has now become so wide, 
And to it has been born so many more, 
That murderers travel by their victim's side • 
That they might open for them heaven's door. 
And mingle with them there on a celestial shore. 

LXXIV. 

The stable stands not near their gilded halls; 

The star of Bethlehem is not in their sky ; 

The groans of the young mother never calls 

Them to a manger where the child did lie. 

They never heard the little infant's cry — 

Nor would they hear it if it cried to-day. — 

Weep not because the Son of God did die 

When you were not on earth to pine away. 

For he who loved Him then,would now His laws obey. 

LXXV. 

Men now have come to worship sterile gold; 
They clasp it to their hearts and even say, 
'Tis this alone that makes the warrior bold ; 
'Tis but for this our ministers do pray. 
And still they laugh at those who worship clay. 
And say they are a dark and savage race ; 
They long to bring them in the light of day, 
And lift them to that high, exalted place. 
Where they now sit on thrones where sin cannot 
disgrace. 



THE WORLD IN DAEKNESS. 95 



LXXVI, 



The scriptures plainly tell ns sin is death ; 
The history of the world proves that 'tis true, 
Yet on we rush as tho' life's wondrous breath 
Was not extinguished by the deeds we do. 
Why we are here is known by very few, 
But they, with burning souls, do long to teach 
All men, as they have been commanded to, 
But there are millions wliom they cannot reach. 
Because they are too proud to hear God's servants 
preach. 

LXXVII. 

Much sooner would they give their shining gold 
To ministers who fill their souls with lies, 
Than list to one whom plain truth maketh bold 
To tell them from their sins they must arise. 
They love to hear those who are learned and wise, 
As'from their honeyed lips sweet music flows, — 
So sweet that tears gush from their hearers' eyes ; 
But they are tears that sorrow never knows — 
A very pleasant way to heal the spirit's woes. 

LXXVIII. 

0, Thou who left Thy home in yonder heaven, 
And came to eartli to suffer and to die, 
That there migbt be a chance to all men given 
To reach a mansion in the starry sk}^ ! 
Thy followers here have taught the world a Ue ! 
And that lie has been taught in Thine own name. 
If not, why should the world in anguish cry. 
And truth be forced to hide his face in shame? 
There is some cause for this, and some one is to 
blame. 

LXXIX. 

The man who follows Jesus must not fail 
To arm himself, for he will have to fight. 



0(J THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

The world will hate, but he must never (|uail ; 
The glorious prize must blaze before his sight! 
And he must leave those halls of fond delight; 
He cannot be a slave to idle dreams; 
He must awake! and feel that there is might 
In every ray of truth that brightly beams 
From that exhaustless source from which all knowl- 
edge streams. 

LXXX. 

The Gospel yoke is easy to all those 

Who have the Spirit that our Savior had. 

They view life from its dawning to its close 

As glorious, though its scenes are often sad; 

They know good will evolve from what is bad; 

That order springs from out confusion's mass; 

That sorrow's draught to pleasure's wine will add 

A sweetness; and the contents of each glass 

Are cheering to the soul, thus happy lives they pass. 

LXXXI. 

Why should this not be, if we all exist 
In order to obtain eternal joy, 
Should we the cup of bitterness resist, 
And thus our hopes of happiness destroy? 
God gives us but the means ; we must employ 
Those means, or we can never wear a crown. 
We with our foolish ways our souls annoy. 
By thinking that a heaven to us comes down. 
We must ascend to heaven, nor heed the world's 
dark frown. 

LXXXII. 

Wounds self-inflicted will not quickly heal, 
But he whom God afHicts will soon be cured; 
For that affliction bears His Royal Seal, 
And can, with His divine help, be endured. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 97 

Oh, could the sons of men be once assured 
That there is not the slightest cause to mourn 
For anything, save that they have been lured 
Into dark paths where virtue's wings are shorn — 
Few who have scorned those paths have wished they 
were not born. 

Lxxxrii. 
How can they when they see the glorious view 
That Jesus Christ has placed before their gaze ? 
Is it not strange that such a very few 
Are dazzled by its bright, celestial blaze? 
All those who understand it, know God's ways 
Are just, and they behold a glorious plan. 
Where heaven's sun has thrown his golden rays; 
And they are startled when they hear that man 
Has cursed the glorious day when mortal life began. 

LXXXIV. 

No man was ever happy without cause. 
And when he is unhappy cause exists. 
The breaking or the keeping of God's laws 
Will clear away the darkest of these mists. 
If man all evil that appears resists. 
E'en then he is not from all evil free. 
For there are evil powers that did enlist 
To fight against the good, that men don't see, 
And when they overcome, man is in misery. 

LXXXV, 

Nor can we say that vain is any pang 

That thrills this nervous casket of the soul. 

For sweetest songs that mortals ever sang 

Have burst from hearts that sorrow did control; 

These songs into the hearts of others stole, 

And their melodious and concordant sounds 

Have been created, till from pole to pole 

This world with heavenly music now resounds, 

To cheer us on our way where perfect song abounds. 



98 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

LXXXVI. 

If sorrow sings a song that fills the soul ; 

With thoughts that chain it fast to life's Great Source, 

It has created that which gives control 

Of sorrow that brings to the soul remorse ; 

This is the sorrow that man can endorse ; 

It comes not from beneath, but from above, 

Persuading that which God will never force, 

To be prepared for that celestial dove 

Which brings to broken hearts a token of God's love. 

LXXXVII. 

If there be any who have never sinned. 
Then there be those who have no cause to mourn ; 
But man is as unstable as the wind, 
And none such, save our Savior, has been born. 
All men the scarlet robe of sin have worn, 
And Christ's pure blood, and true grief's tears com- 
bine 
To cleanse it that it may the form adorn 
Of him who kneels before our Father's shrine, 
To humbly plead with Him for w^ealth that is divine. 



THE WORLD m DARKNESS. 

Canto the Second. 
I. 
Is there a God ? that question should be asked 
Before the fiery blood of youth is cold. 
The truth will never tremble when unmasked ; 
Its meekness gives it strength and makes it bold. 
When found man ought to grasp it with firm hold, 
For it will never wither 'neath his touch. 
It may at times seem very stern and cold, 
But 'tis thy friend, and loves thee very much; 
Lean on its proffered arm and you will need no crutch. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 99 

II. 

The power to reason is a wondrous gift ; 
'Tis a conductor to the good and true. 
Without its aid we on life's sea would drift, 
Not knowing where to steer, nor what to do. 
'Tis said we have forgotten what we knew ; 
And were the spark of reason to die out, 
From all we know we'd have to bid adieu ; 
And he who is to day the most devout. 
Would startle all his friends with idiotic shout. 

III. 
Men come to God, who lay this gift aside. 
As though they thought that act would please Him 

more 
Than nursing it with patience and with pride, 
And using it to help them find truth's door. 
If man must dash his manhood to the floor 
Before he is acceptable to God, 
Then I shall cease to pull toward that shore 
Where flowers that never die spring from the sod; 
My withering hand shall cease to grasp the "iron rod." 

IV. 

God gave us every faculty of mind. 
And He it was who framed the Gospel plan. 
We have no gift which will not help us find 
A meaning for His placing on earth man. 
The Gospel of the Savior is a fan 
That flames this spark into a glowing blaze. 
The soul receiving it has just began 
To fix upon eternal truth its gaze. 
The truth which will explain our heavenly Father's 
ways. 

V. 

But reason's not the only gift that's given 
To guide us to the straight and narrow way, 



100 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Which leads us to our starry home in heaven, 

And changes all life's darkness into day. 

Is it degrading for the soul to pray 

For wisdom that our gifts may all be used ? 

That every faculty may have full play, 

And nothing which is in us be abused? 

Sure, reasoners in this age have all become confused. 

VI. 

lias reason taught a man there is no God ? 
If so, then God gave not to man this gift. 
And man mast, after all, have grown from sod. 
And like a reed he's on life's sea adrift. 
There is no help ; he for himself must shift ; 
The winds may howl, but no one rules the storm; 
There is no hand that can death's curtains lift ; 
Death has no sting, for life has lost its charm; 
Weep God-like man ! 0,weep! thou art a withering 
worm. 

VII. 

Ye who give all ye have to wondrous reason, 
And scorn the humble who gaze on faith's star. 
Who would arraign the soul for crimes of treason, 
If it dare hurl to earth that pondrous bar 
Which opes the door to paths that lead afar. 
Forget not that ye have more gifts than one, 
Nor scowl because all are not as ye are : 
Ye see bright stars, but they the glowing sun ; 
Ye walk along life's path, but they in haste do run. 

VIII. 

Man cannot solve the problem of this life, 
Nor can his plans this world of sin redeem ; 
But there's a true divinity in strife 
To prove that things are really what they seem; 
Imperfect plans are not and ne'er have been 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS, 101 

The plans that guide the trembling soul to heaven; 
And imperfection can be plainly seen 
On everything that by man hias been given, 
Hence when these are their guide, men in the dark are 
driven. 

IX. 

Time has been given to prove what man can do, 

And time has proved his efforts are all vain. 

The theories he advances are not few, 

But, numerous as they are, the wicked reign: — 

No man can turn to white sin's crimson stain — 

The poor still groan, the rich still pass them by. 

But all alike are made to suffer pain'; 

And all alike soon fade away and die, 

But great men of the world have failed to tell us why. 

X. 

I stood among the creature of my God, 
And asked my soul if they were born to die. 
Can life lie still beneath the crumbling sodV 
Or death forever hush the spirit's cry? 
E'en in my chains I feel the power to fly 
Far, far beyond the crumbling walls of time! 
Wfien these are burst, why should I lowly lie. 
Forgetting all that I had thought sublime. 
To sink into the earth as demons sink in crime ? 

XI. 

The loftiest peak the human mind can reach 
But represents a worm upon a clod. 
There's nothing else that earnestness can teach 
So perfect as the greatness of our God ! 
There is a path that mortal feet have trod, 
Which leads so high it fills my soul with dread — 
To think man's feet may press eternal sod, 
And fadeless crowns may glitter on his head 
Is something that should cheer the living and the 
dead. 



102 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. . 

XIT. 

What complex contrasts do we find in man ! 
How strong and brave — how cowardly and weak ! 
See how he scorns a glorious, perfect plan, 
Yet, in his way, perfection he doth seek. 
Sometimes afraid to think, but not to speak ; 
Sometimes afraid to either speak or think; 
And sometimes he has thoughts he cannot wreak 
Upon expression — paper, pen and ink 
Can ne'er reveal what souls from truth's pure stream 
do drink. 

XIII. 

Where is the human being who dare boast 
Because the world may choose to call him great? 
He is still standing on a sandy coast, 
And has not crossed life's sea to know his fate ; 
He may be crushed to death beneath a weight 
That weaker souls could bear with perfect ease; 
For trials come, and though they may be late. 
They come as stealthy as a summer breeze, 
And oft the great man falls a prey to sin's disease. 

XIV. 

When men have felt that they were brave and strong, 
That they could stand without God's Spirit's power, 
The changing scenes of life have sped along. 
And brought with them temptation's trying hour. 
Behold the vaunting heroes, how they cower ! 
And learn from them a lesson, haughty king; 
That man is great when he has heaven's dower; 
When this has flown he is a cowardly thing, 
Too weak to even own he drank from truth's pure 
spring. 

XV. 

While mortal blood flows in these mortal veins, 
And leaps in fiery anger o'er the will. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 103 

To leave upon the soul its crimson stains, 
And all the cells of joy with sorrow fill ; 
While Satan has the freedom and the skill 
To tempt men from the path that leads on high, 
And while his agents take their daily drill 
In that great art of making life a lie, 
The strength that keeps man safe comes from the 
starry sky. 

XVI. 

Proud man has given the blood the sole command, 

And 'tis a dangerous, destructive fire. 

For ages with life's breath it has been fanned ; 

Its flames are ever leaping higher and higher: 

Behold the blackened ashes of desire! 

How they are trembling round the guilty soul. 

While Satan who has ever been a liar, 

Has took the reins and now has the control 

Of that which might have reached a bright, celestial 



goal. 



XVII. 



Who gave the world the right to make men great? 
Or what is that great greatness it bestows 
On those who leave their God to on it wait. 
And comfort it in all its bitter woes? 
When evening shades around life's day shall close, 
And angels bid the spirit leave its home. 
Can worldly wisdom tell you where it goes ? 
Does it ascend, or does it o'er earth roam ? 
Where is the comfort given in worldly wisdom's 
dome? 

XVIII. 

The soal who will not listen to its God 
Is on an unknown ship upon life's sea; 
It strains its eyes, but can not see the sod 
On which it lands when death has set it free. 



104 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

It knows not what it is nor what 'twill be ; 
Nor can it find a being who can teach 
Those things which Jesus said were plain to see — 
They are within the weakest mortal's reach, 
And should be sought by all while standing on life's 
beach. 

XIX. 

I've lost my confidence in man's desire 
To hear that which he knows too well is true ; 
Especially when it comes from sources higher 
Than those who went before him ever knew. 
Those who receive the truth are very few, 
But if desire to hear it were with all, 
And when they heard it if they would eschew 
Their evils ; and stand with the truth or fall. 
Between this world and heaven there soon would be 
no wall. 

XX. 

If wickedness would cease, would not earth be 
More like the vale of heaven than it is now ? 
Would not the marks of sorrow that we see 
In furrows deep upon the care-worn brow 
Be made more smooth ? and would not God endow 
Man with a glory that would never fade ? 
And with true wisdom's help he'd soon learn how 
To bring all powers of good unto his aid — 
With wickedness wonld go life's deepest, darkest 
shade. 

XXI. 

But who can give command to waves of sin ? 
Who can say, Evil, thou shalt not dwell here ? 
Who is there with the eloquence to win 
The souls of men from what they ought to fear ? 
Why even that which is to man most dear ; 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 105 

(His own soul,) almost sinks beneath sin's wave ; 
He seems as powerless as was great King Lear 
Who friendless and alone did wildly rave, 
Because the storms of heaven beat not against his 
grave. 

XXII. 

In floods of sin immortal souls are lost ! 

This world is threatened by their thundering roar. 

See on those crimson waves how they are tossed, 

Till, lost from human sight, they are no more I 

The soul that was created but to soar 

Has torn its wings away, and sought to find 

liest from its labors; but when all is o'er 

It sees, too late, the folly of the blind, 

That sin alone degrades the body and the mind. 

XXIII. 

Yes, I have learned there ne'er can be a joy — 

That is a pleasure worthy of that name, 

Save it be found where sin does not alloy, 

Save it be free from error's seeming flame : 

What am I if I am not free from blame — 

iSTo wealth can ever make my conscience clear ; 

JSTor e'en the loftiest peak of human fame 

Could take the place of that which I hold dear. 

Or lull my soul to rest when loftier heights are near. 

XXIV. 

While earth remains unlike the vale of heaven, 
While o'er its surface floods of sorrow flow. 
While there are golden treasures to be given, 
And while the frosts of death lay victims low; 
While o'er life's path contending tempests blow. 
While sin hides not her scarlet face in shame, 
And Satan tempts with vain and dazzling show 
The sons of God to lose their place and name. 
Rest not, ye trembling souls who seek for heavenly 
fame. 



106 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 



XXV. 



The treasures of the earth lie hidden deep, 
And toil must bring them forth to light of day ; 
When in those cold, dark caves of earth ye creep, 
Fantastic hope will cheer you on your way : 
Why should a man e'er think that he can play 
With tools that are created but for toil. 
And hope to win the prize that others may 
Who use those tools for digging in that soil 
Where glittering treasures lay that time can never 
spoil. 

XXVI. 

He who will live the life that Jesus taught 

Will never sink 'neath waves of dark despair ; 

For every man who diligently sought 

Has found what Jesus told him he'd find there : — 

But where, O tell me, Christian nations, where 

Is one who has not broke His righteous laws? 

It is your sins that lead you in a snare ; 

Your darkness did not come without a cause : — 

The God who lives to-day is as He always was. 

XXVII. 

Without faith man can never please his God, 

But Satan tries to teach him that he can. 

'Tis said he must hold fast the iron rod ; 

But Satan has a very different plan. 

Is God or Satan the best friend of man? 

We know there is no good that we enjoy, 

Or ever have since life on earth began, 

That does not come from God ; but to destroy 

This good is Satan's wish, and those in his employ. 

XXVIII. 

Men schooled in doubt are easier taught to sin, 
For Sin and Doubt are brothers, and both dark ; 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 107 

Men schooled to trust, Virtue will surely win, 
And they will leave on earth a shining mark: 
When men have quenched that one and only spark 
That ever shone across the narrow way, 
They wonder why it is that life's frail bark 
Is driven where the waves of darkness play, — 
It was the clouds of doubt that darkened their bright 
day. 

XXIX. 

'Tis well for them the sun of truth don't shine. 

For his bright, dazzling rays would blind their eyes. 

They have been taught to worship at a shrine 

That was created by the "Prince of Lies." 

They fell so low that they must all arise 

By slow degrees ; and must be trained with care. 

Lest they rush into light where grossness dies. 

So fast that they would perish 'neath its glare, 

Before they e'en had time to lift their hearts in prayer. 

XXX. 

I fancy that I see the skeptic frown, 
When he these feeble, humble lines shall read ; 
But if from Pride's high throne he will step down. 
He'll find in them food that his soul doth need. 
The medium God has chose is weak indeed. 
But on this page the living truth shall blaze, 
When it has fallen like a withered reed, 
Save that part which has met no mortal's gaze, 
And which now knows and feels the justice of God's 
ways. 

XXXI. 

If I write lies, before my God I'll meet 
You all, and there confess I did you wrong. 
E'en were my melody as soft and sweet 
As "Israfel's," yet curs'ed is my song. 
If to the book of truth it don't belong. 
I might as well give up my task and die. 



108 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

As to attempt to light against that throng, 
O'er which Truth's banner floats in yonder sky, 
Who prove to God and man that they despise a lie. 

XXXII. 

When everything by faith is made so plain, 
And everything without faith is so dark. 
When gifts might fall e'en like the showers of rain, 
And every step might leave a shining mark ; 
When every thought might soar as does the lark, 
Beyond the clouds, to bathe in floods of light, 
Why should man leave his one and only bark. 
To plunge into life's sea as dark as night. 
Where every star of hope is hid from mortal sight! 

XXXIII. 

There is a faith that every soul must teel, 

A something that the proud man will not own ; 

But oft his greatest efl^orts to conceal. 

Are means by which this faith is clearly shown : — 

What each soul feels can ne'er be fully known 

By any, save the soul wherein 'tis felt; 

Nor can all things that in the soul have grown, 

Remain like unknown snows that fall and melt 

On some bleak, barren globe where life has never 



dwelt. 



xxxiv. 



I've seen Faith standing on the marble tomb. 
Clothed in a flood of pure, celestial light ; 
Her shining feet pressed flowers that ever bloom, 
Her eyes were beaming like the stars of night; 
Her lovely form so dazzled my weak sight. 
And thrilled my being with such holy joy, 
That my soul longed with her to take its flight 
To that bright home where death cannot destroy; 
Where Purity and Love dwell free from all alloy. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 100 



XXXV. 



Sweet home, I love to think and dream of thee — 

I do not mourn because this life will end. 

Like bubbles here, we're tossed upon life's sea, 

To learn the lessons that on strife attend. 

We never shall regret the time we spend 

In learning that which every one must know — 

The time will come when joys and sorrows blend; 

And all that has been felt and known below, 

Will be celestial springs from which our joys will How, 

XXXVI. 

I'd rather be an outcast in the world, 

Yes, wander till my hair grew white with age; 

Or e'en like Daniel, taken and be hurled. 

Where angry lions gnash their teeth in rage. 

Than I would pass my life in that dark cage, 

Where man can never grasp Faith by the hand. 

She reads aright the lessons on life's page, 

And makes clear what we cannot understand; 

O'er all that is unknown, she has the sole command. 

XXXVII. 

Sweet Faith, thou art not sent from heaven above 
For man to scorn and trample in the dust. 
He who has felt the pangs of parted love 
Knows that thou art a friend that he can trust. 
All other friends are powerless as the dust. 
And with them gather darker clouds of gloom, 
But thy sweet face is free from mortal rust; 
Thou stand'st in dazzling beauty on the tomb, 
And bid'st man lift his eyes above life's seeming 
doom. 

XXXVIII. 

And, Mercy, thou art dear to every heart. 
Where sin has ever left her scarlet stain. 



no THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

We would not for the world from thee depart; 
We dare not think of leaving thee again. 
You nursed us when our souls were racked with pain, 
You taught us how to feel another's woe; 
And if we ever live to rule and reign, 
You there will be to melt the icy snow 
That crowns stern Justice's peak, o'er which the wild 
winds blow. 

XXXIX. 

Thy kind blue eyes have gazed in tender love 
On many a man who lay in dark despair. 
And, like the tender, omnipresent dove. 
Thou healest wounds that cruel sin doth tear. 
Without thy aid no mortal man could bear 
The load that sin doth strap upon his frame; 
But thou, sweet Mercy, thou art ever there 
To help those who will learn to lisp thy name — 
A messenger from God to cheer, but not to blame. 

XL. 

Sweet Mercy, fold thy white arms round the weak. 
And lift them from their dreary pits of gloom ; 
While those sweet words that I have heard thee speak, 
Speak now to them, that flowers of hope may bloom. 
Grant that thy beaming light may find a room 
Among the dreary chambers of each soul; 
That high toward heaven the peaks of Faith might 

loom. 
That Justice's thunders as they o'er them roll. 
May never make them doubt that heaven is their 

goal. 

XLI. 

Sweet Mercy ! I have loved thee with a love 
That only breaking hearts can ever feel. 
I know thou art an angel from above. 
And that thou wilt, at many times, reveal 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. Ill 

Bright truths that even Justice will conceal. 

Thou art the humble sufferer's dearest friend. 

No humble child who to thee will appeal 

Will e'er be turned away — thou wilt defend 

All who will come to thee, until their lives shall end. 

XLII. 

How base must be that cold, unfeeling heart 

That trifles with affection's sacred throne. 

He hurls a keener, deadlier poisoned dart 

Than ever was in open warfare known. 

No mortal ear may ever hear the groan 

From that dear heart which has been crushed and 

broke ; 
The tender soul may be too proud to own 
That it has ever felt the cruel stroke. 
For tales of deepest grief lips never yet have spoke. 

• XLIII. 

And many a tender heart there is that's broke * 
By cruel words which fell from lips of fools, 
Who knew not that their thoughtless, fatal stroke 
Fell not on hearts as hard as tempered tools. 
They were not murderers, though, because the rules 
Of worldly life have taught mankind to scorn 
The dearest truths taught in great Nature's schools, 
As well as those which with the soul were born; 
Hence hearts must often burst if they have power to 
mourn. 

XLIV. 

There's many a blushing flower that has been killed, 

Or withered with the white frosts of deceit, 

That would a home with love and gladness filled ; 

That was created but to make life sweet. 

In that dear home where we all hope to meet 

Deceit will surely hide its head in shame. 

But lovers true with perfect love will meet, 



112 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS, 

Where everything has lost its mortal name, 
Where every heart will burn with love's celestial 
iiame. 

XLV. 

But there's no pain that mortals cannot bear 
When humbly trusting all is for the best. 
What sufferer's grief will man not gladly share, 
When he has truly all his sins confessed, 
And telt the love that burns in Mercy's breast. 
Grief's tale, though sad, will teach man how to feel 
For those, perchance, who find but little rest; 
It will bring out what man would fain conceal, — 
The deepest secret thoughts oft bear Grief's royal seal. 

XLVI. 

Life's picture is not dark to those who know 
The object and the meaning of this life. 
Sore trials come and pause awhile, then go, 
And others come, and thus goes on the strife. 
But man is fighting for eternal life ! 
Will not this knowledge nerve his weary arm ? 
He's fighting too for children and for wife ; 
And if he's true, no power can do him harm — 
This knowledge must be gained to give this life a 
charm. 

XLVIT. 

'Tis sweet to live for God, and truth, and right; 

'Tis sweet to die for any of these three ; 

And Oh ! 'tis sweet to live within the light 

That streams from God's bright Throne, for then we see 

That bitter fruit is sweet, and will agree 

With humble hearts, to live and die for God, 

We know that in the end all things will be 

So sweet we'll bless the thorns on which we trod. 

And wonderVhyJwe feared to lie beneath the sod. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 113 

XLVIII. 

'Tis sad to live when living is in vain ; 
'Tis sad to die when life has been misspent ; 
There's nothing sad in toil, or grief, or pain. 
If heart and soul be filled with good intent. 
It is not sad that here the soul was sent 
To prove its own intrinsic power and worth. 
E'en though its frame beneath life's weight be bent. 
It smiles within and, conscious of its birth. 
Scorns all the withering shades that flit across this 
earth. 

XLIX. 

In fields of Truth there grow sweet fragrant flowers. 
And cooling springs gush from the fertile sod ; 
There we may rest in pleasant, shady bowers, 
And even feel the presence of our God. 
Things are not as they should be when we trod 
Where e'en the angels never dared to tread. 
In vales of error where the wild flowers nod. 
But, being plucked, the soul is filled with dread, — 
Pause ere you enter where so many have been led. 

L. 

'Tis true the narrow way at times seems hard ; 
The flowers of friendship may not bloom around; 
But while you're there the angels are your guard, 
And rest assured you tread upon firm ground; 
A better way our God has never found — 
No beds of roses cover pitfalls deep ; 
But there is inspiration in the sound : 
" Pause not, my son, because the way is steep, 
Behold thy spirit's home ! why should you pause to 
weep ?" 

LI. 

Though flowers bloom along the path of sin, 
.And cooling springs refresh the traveler's thirst; 



114 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

The love and praise of friends ye too may win, 

But these are empty bubbles and will burst. 

The coolest spring may be the most accurst ; 

The warmest friend may in one hour turn cold; 

The sweetest flower may be the very worst 

That you could pluck; what's grasped with firmest hold 

May quickly slip away — 'tis folly when all's told, 

LII. 

If nothing else be learned "in mortal life 
Than that the paths of sin all lead to death, 
And that there is divinity in strife 
Tween right and wrong, not vain has been life's breath. 
But if we list to what our Teacher saith. 
And do those things we know we ought to do. 
Successful are our lives and we'll meet Death 
As though he were a friend we always knew, 
For he is sent by God to all, not to a few, 

LIII. 

Why should the soul stoop down to barren earth. 
And grope among the fossils of debris. 
To try and find the secrets of its birth, 
When it doth know there's nothing there to see? 
Men might as well seek fishes in a tree. 
As seek for heaven-born truths in banks of clay. 
There are no secrets where no secrets be — 
Why search for night \vhen there is glorious day ? 
Why stoop to pick up shells when pearls around 
you lay? 

LIV. 

What can we learn while in this mortal state. 
Though all our days be spent in constant thought ? 
From life's bright morn until its evening late — 
But this : that man, with all he knows, is nought. 
The sun would shine though he were never taught 
To count his journeys through the dome of heaven. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 115 

Bright worlds would be though man had never 

sought 
To prove their power and glory were not given — 
If man were never born, odds would not be less even. 

LV. 

But then, to think man sprang from barren earth ! 
This beauteous seeming, naught but crumbling clay ! 
That all the sacred secrets of his birth 
Are dragged into the brilliant light of day 
By his own wisdom, is at least to say, 
A curious thought, though not sublime nor grand, 
Nor strong enough to drive the soul away — 
'Tis surely strange that man will dig in sand 
That he might find himself, and thus scorn God's 
command. 

LVI. 

If man would seek to know he came from God 
With half the zeal with which he digs in earth, 
His feet within the narrow path would trod ; 
And, then, he'd know he was of heavenly birth. 
Is not this knowledge of the greatest worth ? 
Why should he seek to know, what being known. 
Would stop forever human joy on earth — 
But all shall reap the fruits of what is sown, — 
From seed that is not good, good fruit cannot be 
grown. 

LVII. 

A branch lives not without its parent trunk; 

A flower when plucked soon withers, fades and dies. 

E'en so the soul of man has ever shrunk. 

When it has broke those sacred, secret ties 

That bind it to life's Source: in vain it tries 

To live ; but, call it what ye may or can, 

'Tis not the life that bids the soul arise 

And chase its fleshy sins away — no, man 

To live must seek the source where life at flrst began. 



116 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 



LVIII. 



I'd rather know there is a God in heaven, 

And that mj soul may some day find sweet rest ; 

Than know all things that human thought has given, 

Since Adam first his sin to God confessed. 

To keep that knowledge burning in my breast, 

Is but to give me never tailing power ; 

To pluck it out is but to take the best 

Part of my life; and in that dreadful hour 

I'll bid adieu to all, my life will then be o'er. 

LIX. 

Why should the soul, because 'tis chained in clay, 
Forget that springs of love will quench its thirst — 
Not that base love that eats the soul away, 
And leaves a man debased, defiled and cursed, 
But springs of love that never cease to burst 
From vales where Truth and Virtue love to dwell ; 
Where all brave souls, in fancy, have rehearsed 
The parts that they have played in life so well — 
There they received the strength to stand while others 
fell. 

LX. 

Awake ! ye slumbering souls of men, awake ! 
'' Sleep, sleep no more" in flowery beds of sin; 
The thirst of soul, vice has not power to slake; 
There is a prize that pleasure can not win. 
Think, think of this : the angels are your kin; 
The God of heaven has sent you here below. 
That you might have a foothold to begin 
That march that leads beyond earth's peaks of snow, 
To a celestial vale where flowers eternal grow. 

LXI. 

AAvake ! ye souls that sleep in mortal clay ! 

Too long you've slept; life's day will soon be past. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 117 

'Twill not be long ere you will groan and say : 

" Why did I not seek riches that would last ? " 

You now are here, and know that time will blast 

All hopes save those that rise above the earth. 

The time that comes and rushes on so fast 

Should not be spent in idle show and mirth ; 

'Twas not for this we came and suffered mortal birth. 

LXII. 

No day we live should e'er be lived in vain, 

We have no time to spend in idle show. 

Deeds are real things, and must bring joy or pain, 

Though this, at times, may not be seen below. 

Good seeds, though sown, may never sprout and grow, 

While seeds not sown may oft grow rank and \vild. 

We all must bear the sun's consuming glow. 

Or fall beneath its rays disgraced, defiled, 

A withered, useless reed, though once a heavenly child. 

* LXIII, 

Beyond the grave old age is never known — 
For age is but a name that time has givdn — 
The seeds that man while on this earth has sown 
Will bring forth fruit and make a hell or heaven. 
'Tis not God's plan that man should e'er be driven 
To either place, for then he'd be a slave. 
The soul is left to choose, and may be riven 
By powers of sin, or sink into the grave 
And sleep that long, sweet sleep known only to the 
brave. 

LXIV. 

Time can not chill the feverish, restless soul, 
'Tis onward in its march, and will not rest 
Till it has reached that bright, celestial goal. 
Where it shall dwell forever with the blest. 
This life is not a dream, nor yet a jest. 
But 'tis an actual, known, important fact. 



118 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

And if we seek to find the very best, 
We all shall know that every thought and act 
Will glow before our gaze when deeds are all un- 
packed. 

LXV. 

'Tis not the soul that bids man bow his head 

To tyrants who would crush it 'neath their feet; 

Tis not the soul that thrills with fear and dread 

When trials come that it will have to meet. 

The spirit will the hardest trials greet, 

If not with joy, with calm and God-like grace. 

These are the things that make its joys complete. 

And seal its merits to that name and place 

That glowed before its gaze when it began life's race. 

LXVI. 

If soul it is, 'tis changed since it left God — 
Perchance it stooped to bathe in floods of sin. 
While 'neath those waves, it sees no " iron r»d " 
By which to cling that it life's prize may win. 
E'en then it seems to know that it has been 
Created — not to swim in those red waves. 
But purged from sin, to come back home again, 
Free from the stain of those cursed, crimson graves, 
To bathe in floods of bliss where Virtue ever laves. 

LXVII. 

'Tis sin alone that makes a man a slave ; 
'Twill drag him down and bind him fast in chains ; 
And none but God can such a being save, 
God who still lives, and in the heavens reigns — 
The wicked will have sorrow for the pains 
They take to crush and grind men in the dust; 
For He who has made white man's crimson stains. 
Is the immortal Captain of the just; 
And He will strengthen those who place in Him their 
trust. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 119 

LXVIII. 

The soul of man should never be enslaved 

By any petty tyrant of this world ; 

For deep within itself there is engraved 

Remembrance of that flag which was unfurled, 

When that dark prince of slaves to earth was hurled. 

He is a slave, and all he leads astray, 

Like worms around the tree of life are curled ; 

But they have not the power to take away 

The freedom of the soul, that is with man to stay. 

LXIX. 

The flag of freedom floated in the sky 
When morning stars broke forth in joyful song; 
When all through heaven was heard that ringing cry: 
"The Sons of God will fight against the wrong!" 
Behold their Captain! He is brave and strong; 
He is a God ! and moves with perfect grace, 
0, all ye souls who to Truth's cause belong, 
Receive the light that beams forth from His face. 
And all the hosts of hell can't drive you from your 
place. 

LXX. 

Ye slaves of earth, who groan beneath the weight 
That cruel despots strap upon each frame. 
Do not despair, however sad your fate, 
Nor hide your heads in cowardice and shame : 
Look up to God, and ask from whence ye came. 
Were your so\ils born to grovel in the dust ? 
Or have ye sought to kill that living flame 
That yet shall burn up sin's corroding rust — 
E'en everything there is in man that is not just, 

LXXI. 

No, man was never born to be a slave; 
He was created that he might be free 
To join the army of the good and brave, 



120 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Or fight against the cause of Liberty. 

Choose well thy part, for all the powers that be 

Are in the field of battle, and will fight 

Until all beings that are born will see 

That deadly is the strife 'tween wrong and right ; 

That they are as unlike as is the day and night. 

LXXII. 

'Tis said that many thousand years ago 
Men lived who taught man's birth proclaimed him free; 
But now the wise make such a desperate show 
Of wit and words that they teach men to see 
That stealing is not theft ; and they agree 
That 'tis not wrong to make the honest slaves. — 
"Because they grow so fast and strong that we 
Will not be safe, e'en though we sleep in graves, 
If they but get the power that" — every true man 
craves. 

LXXIII. 

There never was a time, and ne'er will be 
Until the glorious conquest has been won, 
When followers of Jesus could agree 
With those who seem to love God's Righteous Son. 
It seems whate'er is thought by them, or done, 
Is misconstrued ; and they are made to feel 
That, if their race in life is fairly run. 
There is but One who has the power to heal 
The wounds that they receive for truths they can't 
conceal. 

LXXIV. 

When men are filled with love, and long to save 
Their fellows who are sinking in the deep, 
When they would snatch them from the watery grave, 
From slimy swamps where all vile things do creep; 
And lead them to Faith's mountain tall and steep, 
They needs must be exposed to bitter hate. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 1 '2 1 

That something which has lain till then asleep, 
With fearful jells and curses, will awake, 
And strive to crush to death those who this pains did 
take. 

LXXV. 

The man who loves the truth must learn to bear 

The icy smile of many a cruel friend; 

JSTor need he think that he will get no share 

In disappointments which all works attend. 

He oft will feel that he would gladly spend 

Years ot his life to teach men what he feels — 

For they will not his honest toil commend; 

But think that in his bosom he conceals 

The intents of his heart, and vain are his appeals. 

LXXVI. 

He oft will feel alone upon that rock 
From which he knows he dare not move his feet. 
He there must stand however fierce the shock. 
For while he's there he cannot know defeat. 
But often he will sigh and long to greet 
Some loved one that he sees on Error's wave — 
Perchance there is a time when they shall meet 
Beyond the shadowy chambers of the grave ; 
But in this life, it seems, he has no power to save. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 
Canto the Third. 
I. 
Why should the peoples of this world be proud ? 
What can they do ? what have they ever done ? — 
I mean that part, the vaunting, boasting crowd. 
That ever sought to darken truth's bright sun. 
When all is known, the victories they won 



122 THE AVORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Will then be known as ignoble defeats. 
When death appears, man's life has just begun. 
Those dark, deep graves are never safe retreats. — 
The dead must rise and speak! Each soul its history 
meets. 

II. 

They killed the Savior, but the Savior lives ! 
They slew the prophets, but they only sleep ! 
They burned the record, but the record gives 
A true account — the- one the angels keep — 
They've had the power to make the righteous weep. 
But every tear will yet be wiped away; 
And if 'tis true that w^iat man sows he'll reap. 
They'll reap the whirlwind on that dreadful day, 
When souls again unite with frames that now decay, 

III. 

'Tis right and just that all who ever strive 
To serve their God should opposition meet. 
For 'tis the food on which their spirit's thrive, 
And through it they appreciate the sweet; 
But when on earth their work shall be complete. 
It is not right that they should dwell with thieves 
And murderers whom ministers entreat 
To say that they in Jesus Christ believe — 
Whoever teaches this the soul of man deceives. 

IV. 

Priests cannot send a murderer's soul to heaven, 
And if they could, the righteous soon would leave: 
Or would again be hunted, mobbed and driven 
By those who say they in the Lord believe : — 
What comfort would there be for those who grieve. 
If heaven were filled with such a motley crew ? 
And who would wish the thread of life to weave, 
If mortal man could make such doctrines true? 
Among those who love truth there would be very few. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 123 



Go preach this doctrine to a fallen world, 
That ye may lull the guilty soul to sleep ; 
But thunder-bolts of justice will be hurled, 
And floods of bitter tears ye yet shall weep. 
That dreadful gulf grows broader and more deep 
To those who tell the world it is not there; 
Who make a brilliant home in heaven so cheap, 
That Vice and Virtue claim an equal share 
In that great mansion which the Savior did prepare. 

VI. 

The dark and deep abyss that separates 

The just from those who take the downward road. 

Is as eternal as those massive gates 

That guard the Vale where God has His abode. 

No man can cross that gulf who has a load 

Of crimson sin strapped to his guilty soul. 

This side the gulf, God has on man bestowed 

His blessings, that he may the powers control 

Who seek to stay his march to a celestial goal. 

VII. 

E'en were the gates of heaven thrown ajar. 

And wicked hosts were all invited in. 

Before their gaze would fade joy's beaming star; 

For happiness can never dwell with sin. 

Let he who would a crown of glory win. 

Plant this known truth so deep within his breast, 

That the sweet falsehood cannot dwell therein, 

To lull the soul into a carnal rest. 

That all who do believe will mingle with the blest. 

VIII. 

The righteous needs must suffer here below ; 
What they abhor is placed before their eyes : 
Each day, as through the walks of life they go. 
They meet with things that honest souls despise. 



124 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Were not their gaze fixed on the starry skies, 
And did not light from heaven illume that vale, 
I fear that all would serve the " Prince of Lies," 
And sad indeed would be each mortal's tale ; 
And those who love the truth would be those who 
would wail. 

IX. 

Not always will the righteous cry in vain; 
The storms of Death must o'er this fair world burst; 
For oft has justice been ruthlessly slain, 
And he must rise from death and slake his thirst: — 
In waves of fire this world must be immersed! — 
O, call it not a frenzied poet's dream ! 
Deep, crimson Sin has all its beauty cursed. 
E'en as it did when Death's cloud poured its stream, 
That o'er the cleansing wave the star of hope might 
beam. 



The mount of Justice looms before my gaze; 

Its lofty peak is crowned with icy snow. 

In vain the sun will shed his golden rays. 

His crown of ice will never melt and flow. 

Long, long it has withstood that fiery glow; 

And artificial flames have mounted high, 

To tempt that mount to hurl its crown below; 

But still it glitters near the starry sky, 

Unmarked by that dread hand that leads the ages by, 

XI. 

When time shall be no more, it still shall stand; 
When earth shall burn, it will not melt away; 
When that great scene so gloomy and so grand, 
Before which all earth's glory will decay, 
Will be presented in life's tragic play. 
Then will that crown, illumined but still cold. 
Shine forth as bright as does the sun to-daj^ 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 125 

And all who loved it more than shining gold, 

Will, like it, wear a crown that time can ne'er make old. 

XII. 

Has not this world been taught that sin is death ? 
That they who build upon it cannot stand? 
When empires have been blasted by its breath, 
Since this world rolled forth from its Maker's hand. 
Yet still its peoples give this power command, 
And try to think that they are rising higher, 
When with life's breath they fan that dreadful brand 
Which is to start the world's consuming fire — 
Who can gaze on such scenes and man's wisdom ad- 
mire ! 

XIII. 

There'are. things that the wicked cannot do; 
There is a limit to their boasted power ; 
Their numbers may be billions or be few; 
God's Throne is high above their loftiest tower. 
They cannot stay the blessings He will shower 
On those who learn to do His sacred will ; 
Nor can they blast that ever blooming flower. 
That's called the soul ; that they can never kill ; 
Though driven far from earth, it lives and labors still. 

XIV. 

Our mortal ken can't trace its shining course. 

When sufferings bid it burst its mortal chain ; 

And thus o'erpower the secret, subtle force. 

That bound it to this world of toil and pain ; 

But back unto its God it goes again ; 

And they who sent it must before Him stand. 

Nor can sweet Mercy wash away the stain 

Which glows upon a wilful murderer's hand — 

Oh, dreadful is the thought of breaking this command- 

XV. 

Blow on, ye winds of strife ! We shall not fall. 
For God has told us who and what we are ! 



126 ,THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Take wealth, take lands, take iiarne, take life, take all. 

Our gaze is fixed on a celestial star ! 

We do not dread to ride a funeral car. 

For that bright star will shine athwart the tomb, 

Though to a mortal's gaze it seems so far, 

'Twill guide the soul through death's dark, gathering 

gloom. 
And lead it to fair vales where flowers eternal bloom. 

XVI. 

It is the Captain of these mortal troops 
Who lifts on high truth's bright, celestial blade I 
Before that form the strongest tyrant stoops. 
And all the brightness of this world shall fade ! 
The glorious conquests that the wicked made 
Will then be known as ignoble defeats ! 
All powers that are, or ever were arrayed 
'Gainst truth, may hurl the planets from their seats, 
But they will all be crushed when He the war-drum 
beats ! 

XVII. 

The dark and deep abyss that separates 
The just from those who take the downward road, 
Is as eternal as are heaven's gates ! 
Oh, ask thyself, where is thy soul's abode, 
Impartially His blessings God bestowed 
On all His children ere He sent them forth; 
The same bright prize before them all has glowed, 
And Pie now calls from east, west, south and north. 
For all to come to Him that He might test their 
worth. 

XVIII. 

If Jesus Christ were not the Son of God, 
If in His soul burned not the lamp of truth, 
If that straight path He bade all mortals trod, 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 127 

Lead not old age, as well as feverish youth, 

Beyond the ideal heights of each and both, 

Then weep, all life, for Death's your lawful king. 

On, on, in haste toward His throne ye goeth. 

And, man, thou art a wretched, withering thing. 

As barren as the hills from which no fountains spring. 

XIX. 

The breath of noble deeds must fan faith's torch. 
Or raging storms Avill beat it bare and black, 
And leave man to pursue life's dreary march 
Without one glimmer to illume his track. 
On, on he goes, nor can he e'er turn back. 
Toward his tomb, but not toward his home; 
For he can not go there while he doth lack 
That faith which tells him why he longed to roam 
Far from those brilliant worlds that gleam in heaven's 
dome. 

XX. 

There is a rock of firm and ample base, 
Where man must build whate'er he hopes to stand. 
The waves of Time can not its front deface. 
It stands, a monument, eternal, grand. 
The storms of strife may devastate the land, 
And empires crash and sink 'neath Ruin's wave. 
This rock, supported by an unseen hand. 
Looks proudly o'er great Ruin's mouldering grave — 
Dumb oracle proclaims : "Build here and God will 
save." 

XXI. 

He who would win a name that lasts must seek 

For gems of truth in regions dark and cold ; 

Nor heed the storms which on his head shall break 

In scaling summits where her doors unfold 

Eternal riches, dearer far than gold 

Or lands, than all that has a mortal name ; 



12H THK WORLD IN DAKKNESS. 

For when this world, with all its life, is old, 
Eternal wealth, not dimmed, but still the same. 
Shines forth the prize of him who sought for righteous 
fame. 

XXII. 

But now we see the truth crushed in the dust 
By those who kneel before their God in prayer. 
And tell Him that His promises they trust. 
That He will keep them safe from error's snare. 
Though truths lie sparkling round them everywhere, 
They close their eyes to hide them from their sight. 
Then pray for more — consistency is there ; 
That is the way to 'merge from error's night — 
That is the way some prove there is no God of light. 

XXIII. 

There stands a mount beside this mortal vale 
That looms above the crumbling peaks of fame; 
And he who climbs its rugged steep won't fail 
To find his very being change — his name 
Will lose its mortal sound, nor will remain 
A wish, save one, and that to upward climb, 
So high that earth will not appear the same; 
And all things that in life are named by time 
Will seem as children's toys, while in that sunny 
clime. 

XXIV. 

Its peak doth reach the everlasting skies ; 

It joins this world to realms of bliss above. 

And though man's frame in earth's bed withering lies, 

This mount will prove the medium of God's love. 

As man ascends, that bright, celestial dove 

Will comfort all his griefs, and winds that blow 

Will not be felt, but bright blue skies above 

Will tempt him onward, and the world below 

Will vanish from his sight with all its grief and woe. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 120 

XXV. 

Man cannot bear to see his fellows climb ; 
He loves to see them grovel in the dust — 
That is, if he himself be steeped in crime — 
He loves to see all others' brightness rust; 
But 'tis ordained that he who would be just 
Must upward climb, though demons howl around. 
He dare not pause, but he must toil and trust — 
The prize is far beyond this little mound; 
The goal is not yet reached, 'tis but the path that's 
found. 

XXVI. 

While I have life that warms this mortal clay, 
I ne'er shall rest till I have told the world 
That in the west a people live in day, 
Though fiery shafts of hate are at them hurled. 
In this great land where freedom's flag's unfurled 
And proudly waves o'er all from sea to sea, 
Tell me, ye wise, why human worms are curled 
Around the roots of freedom's spreading tree, 
Whose fruits are for all men, wherever they may be. 

XXVII. 

We mortals must obey a higher law 
Than that recorded in a mortal book; 
For brighter truths than mortals ever saw 
Are seen by those who can upon them look. 
Truth's river flows above, but, then, a brook 
Meandered from that mighty river's source; 
Toward the earth its shining course it took. 
That man might free himself from his remorse, 
And learn to trace that stream along its gleaming 
course. 

XXVIII. 

The soul doth long for that refreshing draught — 
For pleasure's wine can never slake its thirst; 



130 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

But baser passions have forever sought 

To visiate it with draughts that are cursed. 

But still we find among the very worst 

A pleading look that tells of thirst unslaked. 

The natural longing which we saw there first 

Has withered, like the heart that has so ached, 

In feeling all good's lost which to this life was staked. 

XXIX. 

All that each mortal man has power to drink 
Is placed before him in a cup of gold; 
But oft 'tis thrust aside, for man doth shrink 
From quaffing liquids that are clear and cold. 
The healing virtues of this draught are told 
By thousands, yet there's millions die with thirst, — 
Or draughts of living fire have made them bold 
To say that no such stream has ever burst 
From that exhaustless Fount where all truth sprang 
from first. 

XXX. 

In all men there is still some little good, 
Though deep within their souls it may be hid. 
Were this not true, the Gospel never could 
Do anything for them — the Savior bid 
All men to come to Him, and He would rid 
Them of their long-worn, scarlet robes of sin. 
And those who lived as their great Master did, 
In every age, eternal lives would win — 
The promise is the same that it has always been. 

XXXI. 

God's ways and throughts are not the same as man's. 

And well it is for man that they are not ; 

For if they were, w^e still should wear the bands 

That Jesus burst by quaffing death's cold draught. 

Man is imperfect in both deed and thought; 

But God has reached perfection in all things. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 



131 



Hence there's a ditierence as we've been taught; 

And to the humble this a comfort brings, 

A comfort that's unknown to even haughty kings. 

XXXII. 

When man knows that his God knows what is best, 

If that man loves the truth he will submit— 

Although it may disturb his mortal rest — 

To everything that God has said or writ. 

If what God bids him wear he sees don't fit, 

He moulds himself anew to fit the robe. 

Instead of taking in his teeth the bit, 

And grumbling at all things on this our globe, 

He humbly pleads with God, as did the suffering Job. 

XXXIII. 

A free man's will he to his Master gives, 

Or subjugates it to his Master's will. 

Because his God alone knows why he lives, 

And He alone knows how the soul to drill. 

With God's instructions man can climb with skill 

That mount which leads him where his Father dwells. 

This is the slavery that the being thrills 

Of every soul that with devotion swells 

To that Almighty God of which Religion tells. 

XXXIV. 

If this be slavery, bind me fast in chains. 
O, Thou, my God, I crave of Thee this boon. 
While life within this deathless soul remains. 
Let freedom's sun thus shine, for 'tis its noon. 
The stars may fall from heaven ; the glorious moon 
May cease to shed o'er earth her silvery light, 
But from the cave where I must enter soon 
That sun will shine upon my withered sight, 
And I shall rise as free as is the Prince of Right. 

XXXV. 

With iron chains, bind me to that rock, 
Which is Thy word; and it can never fail. 



132 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

The house built there withstands the fiercest shock 

Of natural storms, or artificial hail. 

Why should those who have built there cringe and 

quail 
Before those who have built upon the sand? 
Or heed them when they at God's doctrines rail ? 
They all do know they are the chosen band 
To fight for One who shall the whole wide world 

command. 

XXXVI. 

Will Jesus come? Read, read the sacred book, 
Then turn away and say : " Ah, no, not yet." 
Or close your eyes, and let your preacher look. 
Since his great mind in snares of toil don't fret. 
You have your wealth, then why should you regret 
That you have placed your soul within his care ? 
Life's sun still shines, and when it nears its set, 
" We'll call him in that he may breath a prayer 
To waft our souls to heaven, for all good saints are 
there." 

XXXVII. 

There ne'er can be a nobler, better cause 

Than that one which is destined to prevail. 

We should not rest until we know God's laws 

Are pegnant with a strength which cannot fail : 

The wicked now rejoice, but they must wail. 

For they have made the righteous weep and mourn ; — 

Their withered forms, their faces thin and pale, 

Demand of Justice more than hate and scorn ; 

And Justice pays his debts to all wrio have been born. 

XXXVIII. 

Ee who shall burst the chains that bind this globe 
To those worlds which in boundless ether float. 
Has stripped himself of that celestial robe 
That should be worn by all who steer life's boat. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 133 

E'en liice a man who clutches his own throat 

To rob his soul of his own Father's gift, 

Is he who separates this little mote 

From those bright worlds that seem as barks to drift 

Upon that upper sea, ere day night's curtains lift. 

XXXIX. 

Men talk of wealth as though it were a prize : 
They hug unto their souls a shining stone, 
While truth's eternal treasure they despise 
As something which a wise man should not own : — 
Tread it beneath your feet, and ye shall groan ; 
Place it within your souls, and ye shall smile. 
E'en when the last of earthly hopes have flown. 
This treasure will your suffering soul beguile. 
And give you strength to bear the greatest, hardest 
trial. 

XL. 

Earth's glory dazzles, but it soon grows dim 
To souls whose windows never had a blind ; 
For they have lamps that angels love to trim. 
And these illume the chambers of the mind. 
They, also, light a path which none can find. 
Save they who feel that worldly light is dark; 
And that there is a bolder, better kind 
Of joy than that which leaves its crimson mark 
Upon the boundless stream o'er which speeds life's 
frail bark. 

XLI. 

Thou deep and dark and ever rushing stream ! 
Thank God, my bark is on thy breast afloat. 
I fear not to awake from this life's dream. 
For then I'll sail in an immortal boat. 
My soul shall not on things that perish dote. 
But it shall gaze across Death's dark abyss; 
And of the riches that are there take note. 



134 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

As on it speeds toward that sea of bliss : — 
The Gospel of our God gives sweetness to Death's 
kiss. 

XLII. 

On, on toward those oceans where bright sails 
Are floating in a calm and gentle breeze, 
The river flows; and never, never fails 
To carry loved ones to those distant seas. 
Gaze not too fondly on those golden trees 
That gild the banks of this majestic stream; 
Touch not their fruit, it will thy soul disease. 
And change to gloom the star that throws its beam 
Athwart the dark, cold wave on which we mortals 
dream. 

XLIII. 

Earth is not heaven, but can we ever hope 
That it will be a bright, celestial vale? 
Thfe soul of man is gievn a wondrous scope; 
And then it has a God who cannot fail. 
What He has said is not an idle tale ; 
And He has said this world shall be redeemed. 
The wicked now rejoice, but they must wail — 
It is true that a light from heaven has streamed, 
For Revelation's star athwart earth's gloom has 
beamed. 

XLIV. 

The sword of Virtue is not eat with rust. 
Nor has its edge been dulled by constant fight. 
It still shines bright, though trodden in the dust. 
And on its hilt is writ the "Sword of Might." 
It yet shall glitter in the hand of Eight, 
And wickedness will keenly feel its power; 
And all who love the darkness more than light. 
Beneath the gaze of Innocence will cower, 
When, armed with that bright sword, her form shall 
o'er them tower. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 135 



XLV. 



The battle-axe of Truth placed in the hand 
Of those who wear the armor of God's power, 
Whom God has called and given the command 
Of soldiers who before the world won't cower, 
Will yet be felt in that dark, dreadful hour. 
When all will know that arm of flesh is weak; 
When clouds shall rain a hot, consuming shower, 
That burns the earth and leaves it bare and bleak. 
Till it is made a home for all the poor and meek. 

XLVI. 

Men never bleed for truth's great cause in vain; 
The good that we in this great age enjoy 
Was not secured without great toil and pain; 
For there's a power which would all good destroy. 
That power has ever had men in employ 
Who sought to kill the living power of right. 
The purest soul they would with sin alloy; 
The brightest day they'd change to darkest night; 
They'd make this earth a hell — all that they lack is 
might. 

XLVII. 

Life is a school; the teacher is our God, 
And wondrous are the lessons He has taught. 
There is no path which mortal beings trod 
That is not strewn with books of priceless thought. 
But knowledge is of worth, and must be sought. 
As things of value are obtained by cost. 
The battle is not won before 'tis fought; 
Things are not found until they have been lost. 
And man must toil and trust where'er life's bark is 
tossed. 

XLVIII. 

God has His way of teaching men the truth; 
What they can learn depends on how they live — 



136 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

In other words, old age as well as youth 
Must be prepared before our God will give. 
If we would know, we must learn to believe — 
To not know truth may sometimes be a crime, 
For truth will come if man can but receive. 
Hence preparation should be made in time, 
And the neglect of this is scorning things divine. 

XLIX. 

No reason is why man should not have light. 
Save this one reason that he can't receive. 
God's throne is far removed from shades of night, 
And man can know, if he will but believe. 
If 'tis because we have not truth we grieve, 
We weep because we have not what we may; 
And from this weight we can our souls relieve. 
For God desires that man should live in day — 
He who will live aright drives darkness far away. 

L. 

One path, there is but one that leads to God, 
And that is straight and narrow, 'tis the way 
That Jesus bid all human beings trod ; 
The only one that leads to perfect day ; 
All others lead the human soul astray — 
The farther on, the deeper grows the gloom. 
Until the soul has got so far away 
That it will not return this side the tomb, 
But far beyond the grave the flowers of hope will 
bloom. 

LI. 

Why will men live, and ask not why they live ? 
Why will they die and ask not where they go ? 
There is a God who says He'll freely give 
All things that it is needful man should know. 
Why e'en the frozen blocks of melted snow 
Will thaw beneath the genial rays of light ! 



THE WORLD IN 1 ARKNESS. 137 

But man, cold man, will shun the truth's bright glow 
To plunge beneath the waves of Error's night; 
Down, down he gropes and groans till lost from 
human sight. 

LII. 

The strength that we may gain from day to day, 

We all shall need before the fight is o'er. 

No man so strong that he can bravely say, 

"I will not fall though cannons round me roar." 

Brave men have felt like that and fell before ; 

And men who now feel that way will yet fall. 

The eagle that among the clouds can soar 

Is brought to earth when speeds the leaden ball. 

We cannot boast of strength, for weakness is with all. 

LIU. 

But can we ever hope man will receive 

That which received will make the earth anew ? 

Can we e'er hope that man will cease to grieve, 

And learn to love the pure, the good, the true? 

That angels will his mortal pathway strew 

With fragrant flowers which never fade and die ? 

That yon clear dome which looks so calm and blue, 

Will not forever seem so dreadful high ? 

But that the earth will float a bright star in the sky V 

LIV. 

The feverish blood of youth may chill with age. 
And hearts may burst while longing for that day ; 
But there's a tale that's writ on Future's page 
Which waves of time can never wash away. 
List, list, list to what the prophets say, 
And count the days that error will prevail. 
We now are tossed like bubbles on the spray. 
But o'er the waves there comes a snow-white sail, 
For one jot of God's word was never known to fail. 



138 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

LV. 

Yes, pure Religion must and will be known, 

Or sin would blast the purest human heart. 

The seeds of evil that in man are sown, 

Spring up and are of him a living part : 

How quickly do they grow when once they start ! 

What power can tear their deep-set roots away ? 

All men do keenly feel their poisonous smart, 

Yet deeper still they sink in human clay; 

And far into the soul their grasping roots find way. 

LVI. 

What shall I say of those few humble saints 
Who saw their homes fed to the angry blaze; 
When basest men defied the law's restraints. 
And murdered men before their loved ones' gaze! 
Ah, who can call to piind those cruel days 
Without strong feelings thrilling through each frame: 
The land where freedom's sun first shed his rays 
Has let its honor perish in the flame — 
Let Mercy's streaming tears wash out its crimson 
shame. 

LVII. 

God strengthened those who fought for freedom's cause; 
He founded that to which the saints did cling ; 
His Spirit wrote the new-born nation's laws ; 
'Twas He decreed this land should own no king. 
The dove of Liberty that spread his wing 
O'er this fair land we love to call our home. 
Is that same dove which in the heavens did sing 
When all the stars that gleam in yonder dome, 
Rejoiced to know that life would o'er this planet roam. 

LVIIl. 

Dark are the minds of low, degraded men ; 
Their spirits sleep within their sensual frames ; 
They cannot gaze beyond a mortal's ken. 
But ; 1 in their own deceitful shames. 



Til E WORLD IN DARKNESS. 139 

Their souls are scorched and withered with the iiames 

Of burning passions, till at last they find 

That He who all creations shapes and frames, 

Has nothing out of each contracted mind ; 

That nothing else can see because their souls are blind, 

LIX. 

Is there a man who keeps his spirit pure, 

And strengthens all his faculties of mind. 

Who seeks to know if all things will endure. 

Then claims that he has sought but could not find? 

Can it be thought that God is so unkind 

That those He loves will seek to Him in vain ? 

Can it be true that spirits must be blind ? 

That they must sufier doubt and fear and pain. 

Without e'er knowing why the Savior has been slain? 

LX. 

If no God lived, my soul could face that fact, 
But if He lives, my soul can face all things. 
I will know what to do and how to act, — 
I care not for the crumbling thrones of kings. 
The sweetest joys of life may take to wings — 
God lives ! then will His sons and daughters die ? — 
God lives! that is the truth from which joy springs ; 
It is the one and only living Why 
Souls turn their beaming eyes toward their homes on 
high. 

LXI. 

It is the deepest question ever asked 

By anything that ever had a voice. 

Oh, let the hidden truth be now unmasked. 

That weary man may weep, or else rejoice. 

'Tis life or death ! — O, spirit, take thy choice — 

Or listen to the answer that is given. 

Hush every heart, list to the answer's voice, — 



140 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

There is, or is not, life and hell and heaven — 
Stand ready to receive, the answer will be given. 

LXII. 

A little boy attends a graded school — 

'Tis wonderful the growth his mind will make. 

He reads a grammar through, and learns a rule — 

Geology, of course, he too will take. 

He reads it too when men are not awake — 

In plainer terms, his midnight oil is burned. 

What would you find, if you his head would break? 

Truths which the holy angels have not learned — 

A moment gave to him Avhat they have never earned. 

LXIII. 

Keep me from those who just return room school; 
They know more than I ever wish to know. 
For though they will repeat to me the rule, 
There's much they know that i know, is not so. 
While I remain upon this globe below, 
I never wish to know what's false is true ; 
For where I hope — but fear I will not go — 
There are those who such knowledge will undo — 
False plants must droop and die no matter where they 
grew. 

LXIV. 

A man who teaches must himself be taught : 
He cannot teach what he has never learned. 
A truth was never found till it was souffht — 
Reward will never come until 'tis earned. 
Who taught the great professors who have turned 
These knowledge caskets from their college doors ? 
What kind of fire within their spirits burned, 
When standing on their elevated floors. 
And pouring forth the stream that feverish youth 
adores? 



THE AVORLD IN DARKNESS. 141 



LXV. 



Ah, I could tell you what they have to say. 

Their eloquence has thrilled my burning soul ; 

And eagerly I rushed toward the day, 

When I the souls of men could so control. 

That was my hopeful boyhood's ideal goal — 

I am still young, my mind has had no range, 

Yet, waves of time, how speedily they roll ! 

And, after all, there's much in life that's strange, — 

A few short years roll by, and what a wondrous changel 

LXVI. 

Theology is very hard to teach — 

Yes, is not anything that is unknown ? 

They don't attempt to, and thus they do preach 

That truths concerning God from earth have flown. 

Thus, seeds of unbelief with care are sown 

Within the tender garden of the mind; 

And when the tree is almost fully grown. 

We are surprised because we do not find 

A fruit unlike the tree, but seeds produce their kind. 

LXVII. 

Professors tell their pupils many things — 

Some even love to tell them all they know. 

They are the fountains from which daily springs 

The truths which in their pupils' spirits flow. 

It is not strange that what they teach should grow — 

'Twere strange indeed if it did not take root, — 

With fire of life it certainly will glow ; 

And if it does, it will produce a fruit 

Which testifies to all the virtues of its shoot. 

LXVIII. 

'Tis true no man can learn too much that's true ; 
But on firm ground he ought to plant his feet. 
This is not done, save by a very few — 
The difficulty here we fairly meet. 



142 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

I shall uot from this point beat a retreat, 
Until you hear that which I have to say. 
The friendship of this world is not so sweet 
That I can watch my glowing frame decay, 
Without a single move toward the narrow way. 

LXIX. 

There is an order in all things that be. 

It should obtain with truths which are received. 

Much more exists than we can ever see; 

Much more is known than we have e'en believed. 

But — let no man by Satan be deceived — 

One truth exists which every soul should know: 

God lives ! What soul is not through this relieved ? 

The spirit cooled in floods of grief will glow ; • 

And gushing tears of joy will soon be seen to flow. 

LXX. 

That is the rock on which to plant thy feet! 

Remove them ? Never! Let the thunders roll ! 

Let all your friends from where you stand retreat — 

Stand where you are! No power shall harm thy soul — 

Ah, gaze above ! Behold thy gleaming goal! 

Retreat? Retreat? 'Tis but a demon's call! 

The bell of God in heaven is heard to toll : 

'"''Stand where you are!" behold him one and all ! 

Is weakness in his frame ? Dost think that he will faH? 

LXXI. 

A house created on a heap of sand. 
May have the very strongest kind of wall ; 
But when the raging storm sweeps o'er the land, 
We would not wonder at the building's fall. 
So he who will not heed the Gospel's call. 
May build his stately, intellectual halls, 
But trembling Weakness lies beneath it all; 
Life's storms come on, and down his spirit falls, 
Crushed, writhing 'neath the weight of those high, 
massive walls. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 143 

LXXII. 

Trust not a child's sweet soul to any man 

Who does not know there is a living God. 

Make it a great professor if you can, 

But place its hands around the iron rod. 

Ah, better lay it 'neath the crumbling sod, 

Than train it in the school of unbelief. 

It may e'en then a path of honor trod ; 

But there's one path which leads the soul from grief, 

The child should find that path, for mortal life is brief 

LXXIII. 

Within that frame a spirit flutters there. 

Cramped, undeveloped, yet a living soul. 

It should be nursed with patient, tender care. 

And started on toward its shining goal. 

'Twill live when waves of time have ceased to roll ; 

And should it tread the straight and narrow way, 

The name of God it ever will extol ; 

Its light will be increased until the ray 

Becomes a glowing sun which warms its fadeless day. 

LXXIV. 

Had I a child that child should know the truth 
As fast as its unfolding soul could learn. 
I'd rather see it starve to death in youth 
Than quench the fire that should within it burn. 
If from the narrow way it dared to turn. 
To tread the path which leads to darkness drear, 
Alone it should enjoy the fruit sins earn ; 
For I should try to make its wa}^ so clear 
That it would know our God holds all His children 
dear. 

LXXV. 

What man is there so weak who cannot teach 
A child that it should in our God believe ? 
Truth can with ease its tender spirit reach, 



144 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

And make impressions tliat will never leave. 

Oft mothers seem to love to mourn and grieve 

About the reckless, wayward, wicked boy : — 

Spend half that time with care to undeceive 

Yourselves ; and then the other half employ 

In teaching him the truth, then he will bring you joy. 

LXXVI. 

God sent no atheist upon this earth. 

Were they created after they were born ? 

"We knew God lived before our mortal birth — 

Who has this knowledge from our spirits torn ? 

It still is there ; you may the soul adorn 

With all the gaudy show of unbelief; 

A spirit never saw the light of morn, 

That has not, when 'twas crushed and bowed with grief, 

Turned its sad face to God and asked Him for relief. 

LXXVII. 

If there are unbelievers, they are few, 

To them my humble muse cannot now speak; 

Yet I do pause in bidding them adieu. 

And, though my soul is weary, worn and weak. 

In meekness I would ask them all to seek ; 

And I am certain that they all will find 

The knowledge which will change life's desert bleak 

Into a garden, where the choicest kind 

Of flowers ever bloom to cheer the drooping mind. 

LXXVIII. 

The day of every mortal's life is fading; 
Behind the hills of Death Life's sun will set ; 
The clouds of age the youthful brow is shading ; 
In chains of doubt why should the spirit fret? 
Do loved ones linger round thy cottage yet ? 
Time's waves roll on, they soon will droop and die. 
And when their spirits burst their mortal net. 
How sweet it is to know they dwell on high ! 
And that thy spirit soon toward their home shall Hyl 



• THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 145 

LXXIX. 

My spirit mourns to see a mother weeping 

O'er one who in Death's cradle fell asleep. 

She oft forgets the child is only sleeping ; 

Without a hope, I have seen mothers weep. 

They do forget that Jesus Christ will keep 

The spirit of that child within His home. 

Within the narrow bed so cold and deep 

She gazes; and her face, as white as foam, 

Is seldom turned toward the spirit's glorious dome. 

LXXX. 

Oh, would the star of Faith were ever beaming 

Before the gaze of eyes bedimmed with tears ! 

That its celestial rays were ever streaming 

ITpon the soul to drive away its fears ! 

We ought to live so when it disappears. 

We can upon the graves of loved ones kneel; 

And pray with knowledge that our Father hears. 

And will assuage the sorrow that we feel — 

That which our spirits need, their Father will reveal. 

LXXXI. 

The star of Faith should beam upon the ocean, — 

The ocean o'er which mortal barks must cross; 

And when the waves leap forth in wild commotion, 

And like the foam of waves our barks are tossed ; 

When hearts are hushed with fear, when all seems lost. 

Then fix thy gaze upon that brilliant star. 

Its light will kiss from trembling lips Death's frost. 

Or throw its waves of silver in the car 

That dashes down to earth to bear man's soul afar. 

LXXXII. 

It throws its beam upon the dreary billow, 
And changes it into a silvery wave ; 
It shines upon Death's hard and sable pillow. 
And lights the dreary chambers of the grave. 



146 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Ill streaming floods of light tlie soul will lave, 
Who learns to fix upon that star its gaze. 
It shines within the soul that it might save 
What else would fall to ashes 'neath the blaze 
Of that Eternal God, the Ancient of all Days. 

LXXXIII. 

Though in the sky all other stars hang darkling, 

And waves of gloom roll o'er that wondrous dome; 

The star of Faith will still shine bright and sparkling. 

To guide the spirit to its destined home. 

Where'er earth's pilgrims' feet are led to roam, 

Let him but gaze, that star is shining bright. 

On desert lost, or tossed with ocean's foam. 

In calm or storm, in noon-day or midnight, 

Let not that best of stars fade from thy spirit's sight. 



THE WORLD IX DARKXESS. 

Canto the Fourth. 



The bad must die; the good must pass away; 
The good and bad alike feel heat and cold. 
Around them all life's griefs and joys do play 
From early youth until they have grown old. 
The prophets weep because their gathered fold 
Is scattered by the wolves, and part destroyed; 
They who remain mourn for their shepherd bold: 
And thus it is, all life must be annoyed; 
And every joy that's felt is with a pain alloyed. 

II. 

Hush, hush your breaking hearts, for all is well. 
Mourn not because grief plays in life a part. 
Drive it away, and music could not dwell 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 



147 



IFpoii this globe; nor in the human heart. 
Give me the love that beams where tears did start 
From e^es that gazed upon another's grief; 
For to my drooping soul it will impart 
New life and strength, and I shall find relief 
From pain that else would make my mortal sorrows 
brief. 



III. 



E'en "Jesus wept!" our Savior and our God! 

Though free from sin, He was not free from pain. 

No other one a blameless path has trod; 

All men are marked by sin's deep crimson stain. 

But "Jesus wept! " the Lamb that had been slain, 

That His pure blood might wash our sins away ; 

That man might meet with those he loved again, 

And claim the prize that never fades away— 

This tells us what is life, and shows us night and day. 



IV. 



The pain that made its home within His breast, 

And caused the blood of life to outward flow, 

Has never robbed a mortal man of rest; 

Nor will a mortal being ever know. 

The fire of love that in His soul did glow 

Made all His senses sensitive to pain. 

His life on earth doth to the whole world show 

That man must stoop if he would rise to reign. 

And that the sweetest joy creates the keenest pain. 

v. 
A God in tears ! did not the Heavens weep 
When streams of pain flowed from His beaming eyes? 
Were not the angels startled from their sleep? 
Or did they hear His agonizing cries? 
Methinks that all the worlds in yonder skies 
Were cognizant that God Incarnate wept! 
For they are chained by sympathetic ties 



148 THE AVORLD IN DARKNESS. 

To life's great Source, and in their places kept 
By that same Power that woke the Savior when He 
slept. 

VI. 

That l*ower that lives, and jet shall shake the world. 

And wake the billions of the sleeping dead ! 

'Twill bid those rise who from their thrones were 

hurled. 
When slaves placed glittering crowns on Treason's 

head. 
The purest blood that ever flowed was shed,. 
That man might burst the dark and dismal tomb. 
And murderers yet shall cower with guilty dread. 
When they see flowers, they thought were dead, in 

bloom. 
And hear a just God read a wilfull murderer's doom. 

VII. 

Let him whose bark of life has ne'er been tossed 
Upon the boundless wave of Sorrow's stream. 
When clouds of dark Despair have gathered fast, 
And no star through them sheds its silvery beam ; 
When that has come of which man dare not dream, 
And not one star of hope for him would shine — 
Let him imagine faith's illuming gleam. 
And what it is to worship at God's Shrine, 
But oh, he cannot sense the worth of things divine! 

VIII. 

'Tis when the soul was lost and has been found 
By Him whose boundless love shall search for all, 
That it appreciates that soft, sweet sound 
Which saves it from the pit in which 'twould fall. 
It so resembles a fond mother's call. 
That man will feel he is a child again ; 
And that it was his folly broke the wall 
Which separates true grief from hopeless pain — 
But God will hear the soul and wash away its stain. 



THE AVORLD IN DARKNESS. 149 

IX. 

'Tis said that man, though he ma_) be a fool. 

Can understand the Gospel ; but the wise 

Have got in such deep labyrinths that the rule 

They do not understand, or else despise. 

It takes a brilliant light to open eyes 

That have been closed with a determined will ; 

And it may be that this known truth applies 

To some who learn, and yet are ignorant still 

Of truths which lead the soul above life's loftiest hill. 

X. 

I have known boys who often slept so sound 
That mighty shouts could not their slumbers break. 
The neighborhood with music would resound, 
But no, they could not from their slumbers wake. 
And older boys are very apt to make 
Soft couches where they love to loll and sleep. 
A cry goes forth, but pains they will not take 
To ope their eyes and take one little peep 
At doctrines plain and clear, yet broad and high and 
deep. 

XI. 

So broad that worlds are nestled 'neath their wings; 
So high that Heaven no higher lifts its head; 
So deep that they unlock the secret springs 
Which open to the chambers of the dead. 
They turn the key that frees all who were wed 
To that dark Prince, known here as Terror's King; 
But known above as one whom none need dread, 
A messenger, but one who dare not bring 
Aught that would mar the song which all the righteous 
sing. 

XII. 

"Sleep, sleep no more!" 'Tis thus the prophets cry. 
Awake! arise! shake off the carnal dust 



150 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

That binds the soul, which else would gladly fly 
To vales where Doubt robs not confiding Trust. 
Within those vales its powers would not rust; 
But, being burnished, they would brightly shine, 
Until they would abhor unrighteous lust. 
And cleave to everything that is divine — 
This is the only way to w^orship at God's shrine. 

XIII. 

It is the Gospel Trump that calls ye forth 

From flowery beds o'er which the angels weep ! 

From that far pole that binds the distant north 

E'en to the south where waves are hushed to sleep 

(For all must hear these doctrines broad and deep) 

In fond and loving arms of silvery frost 

That Trump shall sound to gather Israel's sheep 

Into the fold from which they have been lost — 

The message must be heard whate'er may be the cost. 

XIV. 

The human soul needs all the Gospel gives, 
A nd needs no more in this its mortal state 
The Gospel is the food on which it lives, 
And only through it can the soul be great: — 
How sad indeed would be each spirit's fate, 
If God could give no more than man can give I 
The few marks that we make on this life's slate 
Would be washed out, and none would wish to live, 
And all would pass away as waters through a sieve. 

XV. 

Man has not power to burst the silent tomb. 

Who brings his frame forth from the crumbling clay ? 

Who gives him power to penetrate the gloom 

That gathers when his loved ones pass away ? 

Religion's sun sheds forth her brightest ray 

When dreary clouds of death begin to lower. 

And on the tomb her streaming light will play 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 151 

When other suns have set to rise no more — 

'Tis then this golden orb shines brighter than before. 

XVI. 

'Tis granted Satan seeks the soul of man ; 

'Tis known he loves to see him in despair. 

This being true, we ought to know the plan 

On which he works to lead men in his snare — 

A robber surely will not greatly care 

Which door he enters, if he gain the prize. 

And, no doubt, Satan offers means that's fair 

To make man think he scorns his own black lies ; 

To get the soul of man, all plans he knows he tries. 

XVII. 

Faith is the spirit's one and only torch ; 
The breath of sin makes it a blazeless brand; 
And as it fades the soul in gloom must march 
Toward that unknown and uncertain land. 
The spirit now will cease to give command 
To passions that it ought to bind in chains. 
This is the reason why men do not stand 
When they have given unbelief the reins ; 
Gloom first and then despair reward them for their 
pains. 

XVIII. 

If faith is good, what must be said of doubt? 
When it appears Faith quickly takes to wings. 
The one has always turned the other out, 
For they are opposite and different things. 
The one doth comfort, but the other stings; 
The one doth point to earth ; the other heaven. 
Joy, love and trust are creatures that Faith brings, 
But Doubt has always into darkness driven — 
Decide which is thy friend, for either will be given. 

XIX. 

When wandering in a dark and dismal night, , 

A lantern's flame will guide us on our way. 



152 THE AVORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Though all the world be wrapt in darkness quite, 

We follow safe that one bright, warning ray. 

And thus it is in life — we cannot say 

Xo light is given to guide us to our God, 

For though we do not live in perfect day, 

There is a path that we in life may trod 

Which leads us far beyond the valley's crumbling sod. 

XX. 

How few there be among the sons of men 

Who fall because they have no warning light. 

If this be true, how many are there then 

AYho draw the blinds of error's gloomy night 

Against the rays of truth, for fear their sight 

Reveal the secrets of a guilty soul. 

And still men mourn, and try to think 'tis right 

To blame their God because the complete whole 

Of His great plans, their mighty brains cannot control. 

XXI. 

Weak man, seek not to comprehend the all 
Of God's great plan while in this mortal state; 
But "List, O list!" to wisdom's eager call. 
And enter at the straight and narrow gate. 
Move forward, and you will in time be great — 
It leads you back unto a happy home, 
Where dwell all those who meekly bore life's weight, 
E'en though on earth they lived and died unknown — 
Lights here are often hid that in the heavens have 
shone. 

XXII. 

Are God's works false because man's little brain 

Has tried to make itself believe they are? 

Are all our prayers and tears and hopes in vain, 

Because we cannot drive our funeral car? 

Or reach, at one great bound, the fartherest star? 

l*roud man, stand forth, and let the rays of truth 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 153 

Shine in your soul, and you will not be far 
From that faith which illumes the soul of youth; 
That light is still a guide to polished and uncouth. 

XXIII. 

Had not faith's fire burned in our Maker's breast, 
Would this fair earth e'er had a place or name? 
K not, why should we ever pause to rest. 
Until we in our souls illume that flame? 
Is it the man or God who is to blame, 
When he is filled with doubt and dark despair ? 
Is not the spark that's in our souls the same? 
And will it not grow bright when fanned with care. 
By noble deeds of love and humble, honest prayer ? 

XXIV. 

The power that bids man have no faith in God 

Is akin to that power which bids man kill. 

And 'tis the same that tells man not to tread 

The path which soul points out with care and skill — 

The spirit often seeks to do God's will, 

But in its medium it doth find a let; 

And thus is brought about the daily drill 

Which man sometimes doth carelessly forget; 

And hence in snares of sin he oft must toil and fret. 

XXV. 

^o tongue can ever make the truth a lie, 

^or can the arm of flesh e'er make it weak. 

Ye may have power to hush the prophet's cry; 

But from the dust that prophet's voice will speak! 

Yea, and the claims of justice yet shall wreak 

Their vengeance, till the sinner bows his head; 

And they who have been crushed — the poor and 

meek — 
Will rise and shine: e'en those who have been dead — 
There is a God of life whom powers of evil dread. 
11 



154 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

XXVI. 

'Tis sweet to know that heavenly powers will aid 
All men who dare contend for truth and right; 
That he who lifts on high the shining blade 
To strike them down, will perish in the fight. 
Weak mortal's arm is strengthened; and the sight 
Of millions will not make that mortal weak 
Who has within his soul that heavenly light 
That comes to all who diligently seek; 
It fills the soul with thoughts the tongue can never 
speak. 

XXVII. 

Proud man, reflect on all thy wicked ways, 
The errors that you make from youth to age; 
Then let your learning's torch with all its blaze 
Shine forth upon creation's mighty page. 
Ask, ask thy soul, "Have I become so sage 
That I can say no God created all ?" 
Or dost thou wish to burst thy mortal cage. 
To reach a height from which thy headlong fall 
Would dash thee down too low to hear sweet Mercy's 
call? 

XXVIII. 

No God? Ye worlds! is this the tale ye tell? 
Is this the lesson that to man ye teach? 
And thou, my soul, who in yon heaven did dwell 
And came to earth, that you through pain might reach 
A loftier height! dost pause upon the beach 
Of life's great sea to gather grains of sand ? 
When thou must cross that raging, restless deep, 
If thou wouldst reach that far-off, golden strand, 
Thou'rt not safe here, though millions round thee 
stand. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 155 



XXIX. 



My soul, did ye rejoice to come to earth 

That ye might but behold my body die ? 

Did morning stars at prospect of a birth 

Break forth in song and know no reason why? 

Or has that somber prince taught man a lie ! 

For here they are, and why on earth they came 

Is never asked by some; they live and die — 

'Tis true, and true it is that 'tis a shame — 

The fault exists with men, but they do shift the blame. 

XXX. 

Ye worlds that gleam in yon blue dome of heaven! 
Countless millions ! with wondrous eyes I gaze ! 
Was not your vastness, greatness, glory, given 
By God — the God whom we weak mortals praise? 
Oh, how wondrous are Thy thrice wondrous ways ! 
Man, what art thou when severed from thy God! 
In misery shalt thou spend thy mortal days. 
For all the paths that ye in life may trod 
Converge in one that leads beneath the dreary sod. 

XXXI. 

Roll on, ye worlds ! a God has given ye power 

To dash like living things through boundless space ! 

On, on ye rush, in noon and midnight hour, 

Forever shall ye run a tireless race. 

Time comes and goes, but still it leaves no trace 

Of age upon each proud, majestic form. 

No power save God's can hurl you from your place — 

That God who keeps my living soul from harm. 

And gives me power to feel the magic of thy charm. 

XXXII. 

My soul, though caged a prisoner in cold clay, 
Has oft in dreams broke through its prison bars. 
And soared beyond the glowing orb of day. 
Far, far beyond the fartherest glimmering stars ! 



156 THE AVORLD IN DARKNESS. 

In fancy I have rode in fiery cars 
'Till night's orbed queen has faded from my sight; 
And I have heard the crashing, thundering wars 
Of planets as they met in somber night, 
And in the midnight gloom have fought a bloodless 
fight. 

XXXIII. 

"When I have heard the deep-toned thunders roll. 
And felt the scorching lightning burn my cheek, 
I've hushed my heart to listen to my soul, 
And it has told me things I dare not speak; 
ISTor is there words in language that can wreak 
The thoughts upon expression I have felt — 
The soul of man is not a desert bleak. 
But 'tis a field of flowers, a fertile belt, 
Where rain-drops need not freeze and snow-flakes 
love to melt. 

xxxiv. 

Roll on ! roll on ! ye rattling midnight cars. 
Lit by the brilliant lamps of lightning's light! 
Dash on, dash on ! nor heed the falling stars 
That yon thick clouds of gloom hide from my sight. 
Through blinding storms, on track of dreary night. 
Ye crash along in triumph on your way, 
'Till storms are o'er, then is your maddening flight; 
For 'tis but when the elements display 
Their mighty powers that you will dash along your 
way. 

XXXV. 

How dark must be the mind that knows no God ! 

What cheers it o'er the rugged path of life ? 

Yon slave though scourged and trampled like the 

sod — 
If he can read the secrets of life's strife^ 
And know his God doth live, and that his life 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 157 

Is but a test to prove his spirit's worth, 
He has — that toiling, trembling wretched serf — 
A happier lot than kings who gaze not from this 
earth. 

XXXVI. 

The sun that lights the spirit's destined home 

Does not blaze forth to warm this mortal clay ; 

But every soul that to this earth has come, 

Has felt within his soul a glowing ray 

From that bright orb— it burst not forth to-day. 

Because its streaming glory is so bright 

That 'neath its rays all flesh would soon decay, 

And those bright orbs through which the soul has 

sight, 
Would burn to ashy dust, and leave all men in night. 

XXXVII. 

The God of heaven is also God of earth; 
The angels are His sons, and so are we. 
We did not lose His pleasure by our birth 
Into a world where contrasts we might see: 
God sent us here, but left each spirit free 
To choose the path in life that it should take ; 
There never was, nor will there ever be 
A soul who is not given the power to make 
A record good or bad, and this for its own sake. 

XXXVIII. 

God is the Father of the soul of man ; 

A father loves his son, and seeks his good, 

'Tis known that God is perfect, and His plan 

Is perfect, though not wholly understood. 

What is there He could not give if He would? 

And why should He refuse to give all things 

To those He loves, if in giving He could 

Draw them nearer Him ? — the gifts of kings 

We would not need — but living brings those things. 



158 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

XXXIX. 

Truth is revealed to teach men how to live ; 
All men should live by what the truth has taught, 
Then more will come, for God will freely give. 
If truth for such a purpose be but sought. 
What glorious changes would at once be wrought, 
"Were this adopted by the human race ! 
Perchance there might not be so much deep thought, 
But truth thus brought to occupy its place, 
Would lift this world so high 'twould gaze in heaven's 
face. 

XL, 

There's not a light that shines in yonder heaven. 
But man may have to guide his mortal feet. 
There's not a throne too dazzling to be given 
To those who taste the bitter and the sweet, 
And thank their God for both, and long to meet 
With crosses which will teach them to receive. 
They'll know that at death's gateway angels meet 
The weary souls; that they will cease to grieve — 
There never was a man whom God cannot relieve, 

XLI, 

Our sins are blinds that shut out rays of truth, 
And thus the soul is kept in darkness drear; 
Were this not true, old age as well as youth 
Would find the mists within their souls would clear. 
Where darkness is, there lurks the demon Fear, 
And black Despair doth lie close by concealed ; 
Where light doth shine the angels hover near. 
And wondrous truths will be by them revealed — 
Those who seek heavenly powers will find in them a 
shield. 

XLII, 

A man can give all that which he may own. 
If there be one who will the gift receive. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 159 

If not, he may beneath his treasures groan, 

When none will from this weight his soul relieve. 

E'en so with God — can anyone believe 

That He has not the right to give away 

That which is His? and will He e'er deceive, 

By only giving what will soon decay, 

Witholding that which would forever with man stay? 

XLIII. 

What is the Lord's?— If He has power to give— 
What is it man may look for Him to do ? 
E'en while in this weak, mortal state we live, 
Would it be wrong to seek the " Ever-new?" — 
E'en though that precious prize be sought by few — 
To seek for that which crumbles not to dust ? 
And ask for faith that, whate'er you pass through. 
That there might be a firm, unfaltering trust 
That God is still your friend, and that His ways are just? 

XLIV. 

What is the Lord's ? Behold those gleaming worlds ! 
Speak thou, my soul, and tell me what they are! 
Tell me from whence the power springs that hurls 
Them forth to pass the lightning's tardy car ! 
What is the glory of the meanest star ? 
'Tis great, 'tis wondrous! it can ne'er be told I 
But when we see the millions floating far. 
We feel that there is better wealth than gold. 
And long to grasp some prize which time can ne'er 
make old. 

XLV. 

What is the Lord's ? All creatures He hath made, 
And wealth of worlds is placed at His command ! 
What will He give ? A prize that will not fade. 
And riches countless as the grains of sand ! 
O, man, receive ! these treasures are at hand. 
And can and will be given as you advance. 
There's nothing that is great, or good, or grand 



160 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS 

Which comes to man by accident or chance ; 

There's reason for it all, not seen though at first glance. 

XLVI, 

What must man do that truth might be revealed ? 
Since it is known that heaven is full of light; 
And that it need not be from man concealed, 
For God desires no man to live in night. 
There is a cause why Wrong doth crush the Right, 
And clouds of darkness hide the glorious sun; 
That cause exists with earth or hell in spite 
Of all that men have said, or thought, or done; 
And when it is removed, earth's heaven has then 
begun. 

XLVII. 

But how can man receive these treasures bright ? — 

Are these things true, or but a poet's dream ? — 

Is it a truth that man may live in light. 

And learn that things are really what they seem ? 

The greatest bard has but beheld one gleam 

Of truth's bright sun which soon shall rise and shine ; 

And all the world will feel its golden beam ; 

And man will know there is a Source divine ; 

And that 'tis not in vain to worship at God's shrine. 

XLVIII. 

Can man receive by simply saying, I 
Believe in God, and that He had a Son 
Who came to earth to sufi:er and to die 
That He might save but the believing one ; 
That all the rest when life's short race is run 
Are thrown in hell's eternal, blazing fire ! 
That in the world of spirits there are none 
Who can receive the truth though they desire ?— 
That is a curious plan — ah, who can it admire ! 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 161 

XLIX. 

Can man receive by gazing at the stars, 

And thinking that no God has placed them there? 

Can he receive by going to the wars, 

Where man slays man with such satanic care ? 

Can he receive by fretting in sin's snare? 

He must repent and lead a better life. 

Where true Repentence is a light is near. 

And 'twill direct man through the storms of strife 

That he will have to face to gain eternal life. 

L. 

No single deed that man can ever do, 
Or ever did since worlds have had a name. 
Will cause the light of heaven to break through, 
To show him all the secrets of his fame; 
For darkness dwells wherever there is blame — 
The act may be a noble one indeed, 
And will create for man a guiding flame. 
By which his soul can swiftly onward speed 
Toward that shining goal — God gives men what they 
need. 

LI. 

This world cannot receive the light of heaven, 
Or it would shine as brilliant here as there. 
1^0 need for man in darkness to be driven. 
While there's a God who hears and answers prayer. 
Go search the whole world o'er with perfect care. 
And find men who do long to hear the truth ; 
Then God will free them all from error's snare. 
Though they be rude, unpolished and uncouth. 
They'll hear that which will fill their souls with life of 
youth. 

LII. 

When all men stand before God's judgment bar 

To answer for their actions here below. 

To tell how they have fought in this life's war, 



162 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Excuses may be ^iven for so and so; 

But none will be more weak, nor make less show, 

Than that one " I have sought, but could not find; 

I longed to find the way that I should go, 

But I was left a stranger 'mong mankind ; 

No light shone o'er my path; I was not bad, but blind," 

LIII. 

'Tis true the world has dwelt in darkness long; 
For centuries they had no certain light. 
But were there those in all that mighty throng 
Who could receive truth's shining rays of light? 
Gaze on, gaze on, in candor on the sight, 
Then lift your eyes to those bright worlds above; 
And read the cause of this sad state aright; 
Ask thine own soul if that great God of Love 
Would not have gladly sent His omnipresent dove. 

LIV, 

And many millions live on earth, and die. 
Who never find the straight and narrow way; 
Good reasons may be also given why 
They have been led unknowingly astray. 
But if men do not live in perfect day, 
A light to every spirit sent is given ; 
And if it does not sin against that ray, 
It never into midnight can be driven; 
Such souls will some day rest within the walls of 
heaven. 

LV. 

All worlds were made that life might have a place 
To manifest its own intrinsic power. 
Though low at first, 'tis sure to grow in grace. 
As blessings fall like rain-drops in a shower. 
From wondrous man, down to the meanest fiower, 
ISTo life but feels the mercies of a God. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 163 

Were He to cease to nourish for an hour, 
All life would fail and crumble like the sod ; 
Worlds would burn black and bare, and never more be 
trod. 

LVI. 

Where sin doth dwell the waves of darkness flow; 
Where virtue lives bright sunbeams love to play. 
Hence light and dark must ever come and go, 
Till it be proved which one on earth must stay. 
The enemy of each will have his day — 
They are not friends, and never will they meet 
And reconcile their diflerence in life's fray ; 
The one must fall beneath the other's feet; 
They both are strong and bold, and neither will 
retreat. 

LVII. 

Firm is the tree of evil ; it has stood 

When lightnings flashed and deep-toned thunders 

rolled! 
From human flesh it makes its thick-ribbed wood;' 
.To-day it stands majestic, proud and bold! 
Around the rocks of hell its roots take hold. 
While far toward the heavens its branches spread; 
From burning zone to that of icy cold, 
Toward its shades weak mortals have been led, 
And on its poisonous fruits all nations have been fed. 

LVIII. 

Beneath its shade the kings of earth have sate, 
And planned how they might make their brethren 

slaves. 
While gorging on its fruit they grew so great 
That they forgot they soon must sleep in graves; 
And that there was a God in heaven who saves 
E'en those whom they have driven from this earth — 
Forgetting all, save that which Satan craves, 



164 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

They lived and died, and proved by death and birth 
That theirs was not the way to make this life of 
worth. 

LIX. 

The tree of evil, rooted deep in hell, 
With branches reaching to the starry skies. 
Where e'en the angels plucked its fruit and fell 
So low that «they can scarce hear Mercy's cries, 
Cannot be killed by man ; in vain he tries 
To do that which his God alone can do. 
'Tis well while here to fight 'gainst sin and lies, 
And be harmonious with the good and true ; 
For men will all receive their credits when they're 
due. 

LX. 

But sweet it is to feel and know that man — 
Though he be weak and tremble at the thought. 
Can work with God according to His plan ; 
But when he turns against God he is nought. 
No man who fights to-day, or ever fought 
Against Jehovah's work has strength to stand ! 
For 'tis the truth, and truth cannot be bought 
And sold ; but it was born to give command — 
It lives to rule and reign o'er every sea and land. 

LXI. 

Far better would it be to live in chains, 
In damp, cold caves where sunbeams never play ; 
Or have your flesh consumed by angry flames. 
Than ever live to see that dreadful day 
When you will lift your puny arm of clay 
Against God's power! for it will surely rule. 
And it will stand, though worlds may pass away — 
Man is at best but his Great Master's tool. 
This lesson should be learned on enterins: life's ffreat 
school. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 165 

LXII. 

Great kingdoms rise and fall, and pass away; 
Yet others build the same and hope to stand. 
Yes, in the very " verge of their decay," 
They smile as threatening storms sweep o'er the land. 
When, when will proud man come to understand 
That greatness must be built upon the truth ! 
Or it will fall, and perish 'neath time's, sand 
As sure as that old age will follow youth; — 
Inglorious are their fate, whe'er polished or un- 
couth. 

LXIII. 

When empires, built on sandy soil, are crushed, 
And with ttieir glory sink 'neath Ruin's wave; 
When shining gold is eaten up with rust, 
And glowing forms fall in the silent grave, 
'Twould seem that man would seek some power to 

save. 
But no, he builds and loves the same as they, 
And sinks in earth, a poor, degraded slave, 
When there are noble parts that he might play, 
And glory he might win that would not fade away. 

LXIV. 

Where are the powers that built on sandy soil ! 
Have not the waves of Time swept them away? 
The billions spent, the millions killed with toil 
Were all in vain ! they sank into decay ! 
'Tis sad, 'tis sad that nothing comes to stay, 
Save that which suiiering man doth wish to go. 
All else seems like a fleeting summer's day. 
Or like a vale new covered o'er with snow. 
That sinks into the earth when warm winds o'er it 
blow. 

LXV. 

Are nations now so strong that they can stand 
Against the storms that laid their parents low ? — 



166 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

'Tis true they have great wealth at their command, 

Which makes a dazzling, brilliant, outside show. — 

Our ways of spilling blood, they did not know, 

And then, they were not half so mse as we. 

Why mark ye well that intellectual glow 

Which shines on nearly every face we see — 

J^o man so dull but knows the branches from the tree. 

• LXVI. 

'Twas not for lack of learning Satan fell; 
'Twas not because he had not warriors brave ; 
He also knew the art of fighting well, 
For since he has instructed many a knave ; 
But there was something which his soul did crave, 
So strong that it burned with but one desire : 
It dragged him to a dark, unhallowed grave, 
And kindled in his soul hell's raging fire. — 
His torch of learning made the flame ascend still 
higher. 

LXVII. 

Go ask a nation if she loves the truth, 

If sweet-faced Virtue smiles within her heart; 

If old age follows not too close on youth. 

And Justice in all her affairs takes part ; 

If poisonous drugs do not inflict their smart. 

If "yes" is said to one, and two, and four. 

And "no" to five and three, ye may depart. 

And publish to the world there lives a power 

That God will never strike, that war can ever cower. 

LXVIII. 

The soul of man was born in yonder heaven ; 
Its powers cannot be known in time's short day. 
By storms of strife it has been so far driven 
That it forgets 'tis not formed out of clay. 
And that it did not come on earth to stay. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 16 

Its love for home has grown so faint and cold; 

It has become so used to childish play; 

That it forgets until its frame is old 

Why here it came, and then its grief cannot be told. 

LXIX. 

I know not how it it is that man can live, 

And never ask his soul from whence it came. 

It does seem strange that he this life would give 

That he might win a worthless, earthly name. 

If life were but a fading, flickering flame, 

He could not care what men thought after death ; 

But if 'tis not, he surely is to blame 

For wasting life to gain a voiceless breath, 

Preparing not for that which lives e'en after death. 

LXX. 

How sad it is that men will toil for fame ! 
Expose themselves to storms of bitter hate. 
That they may win an everlasting name ; 
But not that they may win the truly great! 
Upon the cold, bare peaks of fame they've sate 
And howled, and gnashed their teeth at those below. 
As bitterly they cursed the cruel fate 
Which led them mid those clouds of frozen snow. 
Where flowers never bloom, and pure streams never 
flow. 

LXXI. 

Behold ambition's slave ascend ! His feet 

The sweet flowers press as though they were but dust. 

He starts, and now there can be no retreat; 

The brooks quench not his thirst — on, on he must. 

ISTought on fair earth can quench his burning lust 

For fame — on ! on ! towards that lofty, barren peak. 

Behold, how high ! he now dare scarcely trust 

His fiery eyes — his burning brain can't wreak — 

Alone, he dare not gaze ; he knows he cannot speak. 



168 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 



LXXII. 



Behold ! he now stands on that dizzy height 
Alone, — no mate with softening words of love 
To quiet his restless soul, but dark as night 
He stands. Though far from earth, the heavens above 
Seem higher than they were from his lone grove : 
Below, he sees the vale his youth hath trod. 
His glory won, but fame can not remove 
The pain he feels — he's farther from his God 
Than when his feet had pressed the humble valley's 
sod. 

LXXIII. 

His restless soul is now a glowing blaze ! 
His mortal trunk is blasted by the storm ! 
A few more painful, wretched, weary days, 
And down it falls to feed the valley worm ! 
Not so his soul; the fire with it will burn — 
The only hell it knows — it needs no more, 
For it will teach what all in time must learn 
That God's own hand has opened heaven's door, 
And all must enter there to reach a golden shore. 

LXXIV. 

0, youth, gaze on that proud, majestic form. 

Created in the image of its God, 

And ask thy soul, will it face life's fierce storm 

That in a path of misery it may trod? 

If storms must rage as on through life ye plod, 

Oh, let them beat thy spirit's walls away ; 

But do not lay thy body 'neath the sod 

Until it has been led by that bright ray 

Which shines in every soul that e'er saw light of day. 

LXXV. 

Why climb a mount of fame when there are peaks 
Whose towering crowns reach to the starry sky? 



THE AVORLD IN DARKNESS. 169 

Why grope in night when every one who seeks 

May find that which will never fade and die? 

tell me, all ye nations, tell me why 

You scorn that which the greatest of you need ; 

And nourish with your lives a withering lie. 

And sow within your hearts that poisonous seed, 

The fruit of which will kill all those who on it feed ! 

LXXVI. 

This life is not a dream, but 'tis a part 

Of that which never, never has an end. 

To live it well is sure a noble art. 

And worth the time which we in this way spend. 

How strictly should a man in life attend 

To that which God intended him to do ! 

And not waste life because all lines don't blend — 

Beyond the clouds the sky is clear and blue. 

And all will yet be well if man will but be true. 

LXXVII. 

It seems so clear that every one should seek 

To know the truth, and after he has found 

What is to him the truth, he then should speak 

And act by what he feels is good and sound; 

But if he finds he is not on firm ground. 

He ought to leave and seek another place; 

And not remain to any system bound 

Until he knows 'tis true, but then to face 

Whatever he may meet with calm and God-like grace. 

LXXVIII. 

'Tis better far to fall in justice' cause, 

Than stand in any cause that is unjust; 

'Tis better far to suffer unjust laws 

Than in those laws to put our faith and trust. 

'Tis hard to be trod down like crumbling dust, 

But even that is better than to tread 

On men, though they be eaten with sin's rust — 



170 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS.. 

Afflictions will fall fast upon each head, 

And man is not to judge the living nor the dead. 

LXXIX. 

Nor should the truth lay dormant in the breast ; 

It was not born to sleep in soul nor clay. 

An honest man who feels it will not rest 

Until it is dragged forth to light of day. 

He knows that it should not be hid away, 

Though many times to teach it is to die. 

If he be wise, he dare not with it play; 

Nor can ignore its soft, yet earnest cry: 

"Keep me not in this cage, I long o'er earth to fly." 

LXXX. 

A voice within says : " Tell what you do know," 
Another voice says: "Keep it in your breast," 
The first voice says : " Proclaim it, and thus show 
That you have done what is the very best." 
" keep it to yourself, and you will rest 
From that which else would lead your soul to grief — 
Besides, why is it you should be thus blest ? 
It is not truth; it is a mere belief! 
Hold up your head and smile, you're looking like a 
thief." 

LXXXI. 

The first voice bids men leave their happy homes 

To meet the world with all its bitter hate. 

They know the truth, and it leads them to roam, 

Whate'er may be their fortune or their fate. 

He who has entered at the narrow gate, 

Well knows there will be trials that he must meet ; 

But what trials can the soul intimidate 

Who knows that if 'tis true, it will defeat, 

And that beyond the grave its joys will be complete. 



THE AVORLD IN DARKNESS. 171 

LXXXII. 

The man who loves the truth must leave his all; 
Yes, e'en his life must not be counted dear. 
With God he stands, and never will he fall, 
Though he be taken from this mortal sphere. 
There is a faith which shines as bright and clear 
As that bright orb that glows in yonder sky. 
No man who feels it ever need to fear 
The storms of hate, though in those storms he die- 
It is the soul that lives, and it will float on hi^h. 

Lxxxiir. 

The purest blood that ever flowed through veins 

Has not been left for time to chill with age ; 

But it has left on earth its crimson stains 

To satisfy a demon's devilish rage. 

But read aright what's writ on history's pao-e, 

And ask yourself which cause will yet prevail ; 

Or if your spirit has become so sage, 

Tell me if he who knows he cannot fail 

Has any cause to weep when enemies assail ! 



LXXXIV. 



'Tis not that mortal man can ever stand, 
Though all his muscles be as hard as steel; 
But he will be supported by a hand, 
The strength of which all men must some time feel. 
We have not, and we never can conceal 
One thing which was ordained to come to light. 
The God who will in time all things reveal 
Has clearly shown the destiny of right. 
And armed His mortal troops, and told them how to 
fight. 



LXXXV. 



Not with the sword that man has bathed in blood ; 
Not with the gun that kills what God would save- 



172 THE AVORLD IN DARKNESS. 

Not with the knife that slays the great and good, 
But with the power that bursts the darkest grave, 
And with truth that frees the verest slave. 
This is a fight where blood need not be shed, 
But 'tis a fight where soldiers must be brave, 
That when the thunders rattle o'er each head, 
They see beyond the clouds which others so much 
dread. 

LXXXVI. 

Seek not to hide your secret sins in dark, 
For heaven's light will penetrate the gloom ; 
Not in thy breast, for they will leave a mark 
"Which will not be defaced within the tomb; 
Nor bury them in earth; it has no room 
Where secrets can be hid from heaven's light. 
Write on their face: "Go forth to meet thy doom; 
I have not power to hide thee from God's sight " — 
We cannot hide the wrong; we cannot crush the right. 

LXXXVII. 

Nor seek, pro ad man, to crush to death the truth — 

Or rather seek to pluck yon stars from heaven ; 

For just so sure as age will follow youth, 

So sure it is that truth, though crushed and riven. 

Will yet arise, and to her power be given 

To drive her coward foes so far from earth. 

That they will starve to death ere they reach heaven : 

So far that here they'll ne'er receive that birth 

Which opens heaven's gate to all who are of worth. 

LXX XVIII. 

The truth may sink deep 'neath the waves of lies. 
Or it may lay for ages in the tomb; 
But, like the soul of man, it never dies; 
It in itself has power to bud and bloom. — 
The light will never give way to the gloom ; 
The Truth can never lie still in the grave; 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 173 

But it will rise and grow till there's no room 

For error, save beneath the burning wave — 

All men will some day know it has the power to save. 

LXXXIX. 

'Tis not forever wickedness shall rule ; 
There comes a day when it will have an end, 
When Virtue will not be made Vice's tool, 
And Sin will iind that Strength is not his friend. 
The time and riches men and nation's spend 
In forging chains to bind God's chosen few, 
Could well be used with vantage to defend 
Themselves from what they surely must pass through, 
Unless what prophets say is proved to be untrue. 

xc. 

The cause of Truth may sometimes seem to fail ; 
ITer advocates have fallen in the dust; 
But Error's strength will not always prevail, 
For brio-htest swords in time are eat with rust. 
In arm of flesh man should not put his trust. 
Because the strongest is but withering clay ; 
But there is something in a cause that's just 
Which lives when all its friends have passed away. 
And greets the rising sun that warms a better day. 

xci. 

If truth were not the truth, we would despair; 
If strength were not in truth, we would be weak; 
But till this change shall come, we will declare 
That we have rights to think, and act, and speak. 
Think not because our faith has made us weak, 
That it has taught us how to wear a chain, 
Until our souls have sought all they can seek 
To save themselves from the disgrace and pain 
That all true men must feel when Liberty is slain. 



174 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

XCII. 

Sweet are the joys unfaltering faith doth bring; 
It ought to dwell in every humau heart, 
For where it is eternal flowers will spring ; 
It is a balm that heals the keenest smart. 
However sharp may be grief's gleaming dart, 
It can not crush the humble, trusting soul ; 
For that soul will command it to depart; 
And still press onward to its destined goal! — 
Why was it born in heaven, if it cannot control ! 

XCIII. 

Give me unfaltering faith, and keep your gold; 

Keep everything that time can fade away ! 

What is there in a piece of stone as cold » 

As are the graves in which our frames must lay! 

But faith will guide us on the shining wa}'. 

Beyond a brighter world than sin has known ; — 

It is no toy with which a man can play. 

It is the power of life, and where 'tis sown 

It grows and bears a fruit which can not be unknown. 

xciv. 
The healing power of faith can not be known 
To him who ne'er was wounded by despair ; 
Nor will it live in hearts which will not own 
That Sin has sometime made his dwellino- there. 
It is a plant that must be nursed with care, 
And not plucked out as tho' it were a weed. 
The sweet, delicious fruit that it doth bear 
Will testify the virtue of the seed. 
On that delicious fruit all men that live should feed. 

xcv. 
It is the power of every spirit's life ; 
Take it away, and spirit droops and dies. 
No more you'll see it battling in life's strife 
For that which lifts man to the starry skies. 



THE WORLD IN DABKNESS. 175 

Behold it as in carnal sleep it lies, — 
Or roaming o'er the land with gleaming eye — 
We know its curses are but Terror's cries ! 
In every laugh we hear a ringing cry — 
What man was ever born who lived when faith did 
die! 

XCVI. 

If 'tis to live to sink 'neath waves of sin, 

To throw away the weapons God has given, 

That man with them eternal life might win. 

And build a home in a celestial heaven; 

If 'twas for this that man to earth was driven, — 

If this be life, then come O dreaded death. 

The weary soul has failed, and now is riven; 

There's nothing gained by breathing mortal breath — 

Truth is not truth ! life is not life ! all, all decay eth. 

XCVII. 

This world may boast, and try to think 'tis wise ; 
But man is in the dark with all its light. 
He comes to earth and lives awhile, then dies. 
And all is hushed in death's dark, dismal night. 
Xo lamp of earth can make death's chamber bright, 
Xor shed one ray behind the silent tomb ; 
No torch that man can kindle drives from sight 
Those clouds that fill the sufferer's world with gloom, 
When his sweet flower of love on earth has ceased to 
bloom. 

XCVIII. 

Behold a world where millions live and die ! 
Where joy and sorrow each has claimed a place ; 
Where oft we hear the sufferer's painful- cry, 
And oft we see the happy, beaming face. 
On, on we go and still there is no trace 
Of where we go, or why on earth we came. 
It does seem strange, but not so strange a case 



176 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

As that one where there is no praise nor blame, 
Where man will live and die, and never ask his name. 

xcix. 

The meaning of this life can not he found 

Outside the Gospel of the Son of God. 

Men try to delve its secrets from the ground, 

But spirits do not grow in crumbling sod. 

Wise men scorn those who grasp the iron rod ; 

But they sink in their graves and never know 

Why men should come a mortal path to trod ; 

The meaning of their living here below ; 

Or e'en from whence they came, or where at death 

they go. 

c. 
There is a vale where brave souls love to meet; 
At morn and noon and night they gather there. 
Life's weary traveler here finds comfort sweet, — 
It is the Vale, the hallowed Vale of Prayer. 
However mean may be the robes ye wear. 
However weak may be your mortal frame, 
The angels welcome all, and nurse with care 
All those who ever to that Valley came ; 
The prince, the king, the slave, are loved and cheered 

the same. 

CI. 

This lovely Vale, I oft in youth have sought, 
When childhood's grief disturbed my tender mind. 
While resting in its groves, I oft have thought 
That God had made this Vale for all mankind ; 
For I have thought that every soul could find. 
Beneath its shady groves, a sweeter rest. 
Than can be found on thrones where kings have 

pined, 
Or in the halls of wealth, where life's a jest — 
Here, here in nature's arms man fondly is caressed. 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 177 

CII. 

ye who press that ever sacred sod, 
Remember there's the place to bend the knee. 
Pour forth thy soul in earnest prayer to God 
That Adam's sons and daughters may be free ; 
That man may learn to shun that evil tree, 
The fruit of which has made his soul a slave, 

Who sighs and groans, and thinks these things 

must be ; 
That Freedom cannot live this side the grave; 
That from this lowly shame there is no power to save. 

cm. 

When love first taught my youthful heart to feel 
The joys and pains that only love has known, 
Then on that lowly sod I oft did kneel, 
And as I prayed, my sorrows swift have flown. 
Then joy so sweet, I hardly dare to own. 
Would fill mj'^ soul and calm my restless heart. 
Till I have felt, when in that Vale alone. 
That it was good to feel grief's stinging smart. 
Since joy could never come until grief did depart. 

CIV. 

But she I loved did never wander there. 
In somber moods I always went alone; 
And as I knelt before my God in prayer, 
My bosom sins I there did freely own. 

1 know not where the time has gone that's flown. 
But it has changed that child into a man. 

Yet oft I feel as though I were not grown, 
For when a child I drew a different plan, 
And when I gaze on it, life has not yet begun. 

cv. 

O Love ! I oft have sought to clasp thy form ; 
To|gaze^into|^thy^beaming'eyes of flame. 



178 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

And read the secrets of thy wondrous charm, 
To learn why thou hast gained immortal fame. 
No serf so low who has not heard thy name; 
Xo king so great who has not felt thy power — 
My soul would know from whence thy dear form came, 
And how it is that thou canst make men cower, 
Who 'gainst all else do stand like some lone, lofty 
tower. 

cvi. 

When man is bound to one he loves, 'tis sad 

To know those bonds are mortal and must break; 

But 'tis enough to drive him raving mad 

When they are burst before he can awake 

From love's sweet dream. All efforts he may make 

To swim against the waves of grief and pain. 

Are like the efforts of a silvery flake 

That stoops to kiss the wave and rise again 

To join its myriad mates in clouds of frozen rain. 

cvii. 

There lies the dead, her sweet lips cold and pale; 
The lips that trembled on thine own with love. 
They answer not, e'en though thy moaning wail 
Should startle life in worlds that float above. 
What is there left thee now when that white dove 
Lies withering like the dust beneath thy feet. 
Can loving friends command those lips to move, 
Or bid the waves of sorrow to retreat? 
Ah, no; all, all is lost if loved ones never meet. 

CVIII. 

Cursed be the bonds which taught me to believe 
The love was mine which now I cannot claim ! 
That gave me joy, but leave me here to grieve, 
'Mid storms that waste my spirit's mortal frame; 
Without one hope to cheer, without one joy to name. 
Bound by a bond that bursts when death draws near; 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 179 

And death has come — where is there wrong or blame? 

I only hoped, and now I have no fear, 

For I have learned 'twas wrong to hold an angel dear. 

cix. 
Oh, mocking life ! Oh, w-orld of bitter woe! 
Where hope, and joy, and love, live but to die! 
Have you one jem in all your gaudy show 
Which found would hush the spirit's longing cry ? 
I cannot love again; I dare not try 
To love that which I know must fade away — 
Still I do long to love, and fain would fly — 
If I had wings — beyond the orb of day 
To find something to love that never would decay. 

ex. 
When Pain would aim his arrow at my heart. 
She always felt his steel more keen than I; 
And I have almost longed to feel his dart, 
That I might hear my loved one breathe a sigh. 
For her to live on earth, and me to die. 
Could not have been, but as it is 'tis sad; 
But I have felt, and still feel bound to try. 
But were it not for faith I would go mad, 
Nor ever love the good, nor ever hate the bad. 

CXI. 

Can churlish priest, who stoops o'er my fair dead, 
With hardened heart and narrow soul of lies. 
Pronounce a blessing on my drooping head? 
Or hush my spirit's agonizing cries? 
Away ! away ! in vain, in vain he tries 
To hide that look of narrow-minded shame ; 
But there is something in those vacant eyes 
That tells me he has stole his place and name ; 
That life and death with him is a lucrative game. 

CXII. 

Were there a place ten thousand miles away 
Where lived a man who represented God, 



180 THE WORLD IN DAKKNR8S. 

I'd never rest a moment, night nor day, 

But seek him, though 'twere burning sands I trod : 

Though not one spring refreshed the barren sod, 

I'd start, and hope and pray to reach that place — 

And I would not accept a simple nod, 

But with my soul I'd read that being's face ; 

And tell him God's trail son had come to ask for grace. 

CXIII, 

I'd ask him if my Father and my God 

Had kindled fires of love within my breast. 

But that they might burn cold, when 'neath the sod 

The form of her I loved was lain to rest. 

Is life and love and hope and faith a jest? 

Or, man of God, can you some comfort give? 

If there's a home where mortals shall be blessed, 

I wish to know about it while T live, 

Then I will ask my God to all my sins forgive. 

cxiv. 
I do not ask you if she still has life. 
For, in my soul, I feel she cannot die ; 
But will she in the next world be my wife ? 
And if not, will Your Grace please tell me why ? 
Art thou a man of God, and cannot tie 
A knot but needs must burst before 'tis tied ? 
Has love a mansion in the starry sky ? 
Then can you not have lasting bonds applied. 
That man may clasp again his loved and loving 
bride ? 

cxv. 
If Love be not an 'habitant of heaven, 
Then heaven has lost what gave it that sweet name : 
As well it is to be in darkness driven, 
As sit on thrones where burns not Love's puio flame. 
If it live there, it must be very tame 
If it doth sit and fold its arms alone: — 
Man has no wife, but still he loves the same — 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 181 

Such love's as cold and barren as a stone; 
And is a love no man would ever wish to own. 

cxvi. 
A lie, though written on an angel's brow, 
Would throw a shade o'er that celestial sheet. 
However high it is exalted now. 
It must descend ere God's work is complete. 
Those who now worship it will yet retreat ; 
Their gleaming swords will soon corrode with rust ; 
Their ashes will be trodden 'neath the teet 
Of those who learn to put their living trust 
In Him "Whose glowing Form shines o'er Death's vale 
of dust. 

cxvii. 
It may be hidden 'neath a breast of snow, 
Within the secret chambers of a heart 
That thrills with anguish at another's woe. 
As though it had received a poisonous dart; 
It may dwell in a soul that can impart 
To others all it ever has received. 
But it must from those secret cells depart, 
In order that their souls may be relieved — 
He who will trust in it will by it be deceived. 

CXVIII. 

'Tis hard to give up what we thought was true. 
E'en when we are convinced that 'tis a lie; 
But that is what wo mortals have to do. 
In being taught by Him who dwells on high. 
Our ideals wither 'neath His searching eye; 
With tears we watch them fade before our gaze. 
But after we have checked the natural sigh. 
We gaze again, and Faith's star sheds its blaze 
O'er His celestial forms, none of which e'er decays. 

CXIX. 

He who will give up what he knows is false, 
May suffer transient pangs, but he will find 



182 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

That though the truth unpityingly assaults 
The false creations of his feverish mind. 
She never is, if truly loved, unkind; 
But will create forms beautiful and real. 
She would strike off the fetters that now bind 
The souls of men, and they would learn to feel 
That they had found a sword wrought out of choicest 
steel. 

cxx. 

It is the sword used by the living God 

In fighting with the mighty hosts of hell. 

His Son broke His and thrust it 'neath the sod, 

Then chose another that we all know well. 

His warriors bravely fought and bravely fell 

To earth ; and here the battle-drum is heard. 

The dirges of the war-song wildly swell — 

O heed the Great Commander's every word ; 

Let every pulse of life with zeal for right be stirred 

cxxr. 

Why do I speak? Because I have a voice, 

And God has filled my brain with thoughts of fire. 

Two paths before me lay ; I took my choice. 

And now whate'er God shows me I admire. 

If it be an unnatural desire 

To give that which my soul can never keep. 

Then I plead guilty ; but I would inquire. 

Where are the fields in which the world can reap 

An evidence of this ? If found, my soul shall weep. 

CXXII. 

The world now knows that it has been deceived — 
At least the wisest ministers have found 
That many things which Christians have believed 
Cannot within the lines of truth be bound — 
Indeed, a man no need to be profound 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 183 

To know there's not ten thousand roads to heaven ; 
For evidences everywhere abound 
That there's but one — no other God has ffiven : 
And even from that way man has been lost or driven. 

CXXIII. 

But hush ! — my axe would not destroy the tree 
Beneath whose shade poor, suliering man finds rest. 
From what he loves I would not bid him flee, 
If death were not in what he has caressed. 
If 'neath that shade he thinks his soul is blessed, 
What would he think if in the grove of God? 
There Beauty in celestial robes is dressed. 
And flowers eternal spring forth from the sod — 
Why do men hesitate to grasp "the iron rod?" 

cxxiv. 
Ah, could I take him gently by the arm. 
And lead him to that wilderness of flowers, 
Where everything that can the spirit charm 
Is waving round the Gospel's shady bowers! 
Where blessings fall in sweet, celestial showers; 
Where Faith greets Reason with a tender kiss. 
And both awake the spirit's sleeping powers. 
While they connect the worlds above with this. 
And cheer man on his way to vales of perfect bliss! 

cxxv. 
He soon would see the tree that he had loved 
Was leafless, branchless, crumbling to decay. 
Its roots by tempests of the Truth are moved. 
And soon it will be swept from earth away. 
The lightnings of God's wrath around it play- 
He has decreed the mighty tree shall fall. 
We only warn man that he should not stray 
Too near the blasted trunk. Oh, hear the call ! 
And move within the grove, around which is God's 
wall. 



184 THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 

CXXVI. 

What man can stay the anger of our God ? 

His breath the empires of the earth can crush! 

A single blow from His avenging rod, 

And worlds are withered like a lifeless rush. 

The world now boasts, but when He bids it "Hush," 

The echoes of its voice will fade and die, 

And everything that's guilty then will blush 

With shame; and from His presence fain would tly 

To deepest caves of hell, from His all-searching eye. 

CXXVII. 

His eyes, filled with celestial tears of love. 
Have long upon this fallen world been beaming; 
His voice has been the sweet voice of a dove; 
His blessings have upon all men been streaming. 
He hung his lamp in heaven; and by its gleaming 
His children have been guided here and there, 
And when it has gone out, and man was dreaming. 
He still has watched him with paternal care — 
His blessings are for all, and all have had their share. 

CXXVIII. 

Woe to this fallen world whene'er those eyes 

Are kindled with just anger's awful flame ! 

They then shall flash like meteors through the skies, 

And wither many a mortal's glowing frame! 

The wicked then will crouch with fear and shame. 

And call for rocks to hide them from His sight. 

The atheist, too, will learn to lisp His name. 

And Justice then shall wave the sword of Right 

O'er everything that lives with dignity and might. 

cxxix. 

Woe to this world whene'er that still, small voice 
Hurls forth on earth the waves of anger's power! 
The nations who in wickedness rejoice 
May stand today, but then they all shall cower I 



THE WORLD IN DARKNESS. 185 

Thej all shall wither like a blasted flower; 

Their idols will be crushed to ashy dust — 

Inevitable! — the future brings that hour, 

Unless the wicked learn to be more just, 

And in the living God place all their hopes and trust . 

cxxx. 
Woe to that power that fights against our God! 
Though wealth of worlds be placed at her command, 
Though planets shake as warriors' press their sod! 
Know this, ye worlds, she has not strength to stand. 
The campaigns of Jehovah have been planned 
By One who knew the power of truth and right! 
His banner yet shall wave o'er every land; 
His sun of truth will fill the world with light, 
And hand to hand He'll fight the mighty prince of 
night ! 

cxxxi. 
The awful debt of Justice must be paid, 
Kor Mercy's tears can wash away his claims. 
He stands in dazzling robes of white arrayed, 
Nor weeps with pity o'er the one he blames. 
He waves the torch that fills the world with flames — 
There is no power can wrench it from his hand! 
When spirits shriek and leave their blistered frames, 
They then will know 'tis not a blazeless brand, 
And that 'twas no light thing to scorn a God's com- 
mand. 

CXXXII. 

The waves of darkness flow o'er all the world. 
Because the world has loved those dreary waves; 
The Gospel's flag has not yet been unfurled, 
Because it never floats o'er cowering slaves. 
The dove (the Holy Spirit) never laves 
In waves of darkness, but its wings are spread 
O'er everything that tender Mercy saves, 
When tears of true repentance have been shed; 
And its celestial wings shine o'er the sleeping dead. 



186 TO A LOVED ONE IN PABADISE, 

CXXXIII. 

Oh, may God's Spirit ever be our guide; 
And may we ever hush our hearts to hear 
Its sweet, celestial voice till we reside 
With those we held and still do hold so dear. 
Be not afraid, for God is ever near — 
The sorrows of the heart expand the soul. 
Above the clouds the sun is shining clear; 
Be patient, and the dreary clouds will roll. 
And when we have been proved Grief's bell will cease 
to toll. 

CXXXIV. 

Behind the darkest cloud there is a light; 

Beyond the fartherest hill there is a vale; 

Above the loftiest peak in human sight 

There loom high summits that man yet shall scale. 

Sad, sad indeed may be the sufferer's tale, 

But angels soon shall kindly call him home. 

Their songs of love will hush his moaning wail; 

No more forever shall the wanderer roam; 

How sweet 'twill be to dwell within that glorious 

dome ! 
1890-91. 



TO A LOVED ONE IN PAEADISE. 

^HE pleasures of life may attract me, 
^ And may smother a few moments' pain; 
But the grief of my soul most distracts me 
"When I think we shall ne'er meet again. 

The birds in the grove are still singing; 

The flowers smile sweet in their bloom; 
But her glad voice no more I hear ringing. 

For 'tis hushed in the dust of the tomb. 



TO A LOVED ONE IN PARADISE. 187 

The wild deer still bounds o'er the mountains, 
And bathes his hot flanks in the lake; 

The pure streams still gush from their fountains, 
But my thirst never more will they slake. 

I left my sweet home full of gladness ; 

I returned — 'tis a home never more, 
For the one who could cheer all my sadness 

Has now crossed to eternity's shore. 

'Tis strange that the loss of a loved one 
Can darken the whole world with s:loom : 

JSTo light, save one ray that is streaming 

From the sun that shines back of the tomb. 

'No power on this earth shall e'er darken 

That ray that illumines my soul ; 
It tells me the dead shall awaken 

And live while eternities roll. 

Every day that I live I am nearer 

That home where my soul shall find rest; 

Every moment I breathe it seems dearer, 
To hope that I'll meet with the blest. 

When my work on this earth is completed, 
When my short race of life has been run, 

When the cold hand of Time has defeated 
The work that my youth first begun. 

Sweet Angel of Death, I shall greet thee, 

And clasp thy cold form to my breast. 
In life I have oft sought to meet thee, 
For I know that thou bringeth me rest. 
Feb. 10, 1890. 



188 OUR DEEDS WILL FOLLOW US. 

OUR DEEDS WILL FOLLOW LIS. 

fHAT our deeds will follow us yonder 
Is a truism well understood; 
And that's why I often-times ponder 

O'er my deeds, both the bad and the good. 

I try to gaze frankly and boldly 

On the scenes that forever have passed; 

To judge unimpassioned and coldly 
Of my life which has sped on so fast. 

E'en as a leaf thrown in the river 

Have I floated down life's foaming stream; 

And so I shall float on forever, 

Yet I feel that my life's not a dream. 

Ah, no, it is true; I am living. 

And I know that my soul cannot die; 

Experience this life is giving 

Which will be of worth to me on high. 

A crown of celestial glory ! 

Can it ever be won without pain ? 
Ah, no; we must write this life's story — 

Though 'tis sad, we must never complain. 

Complain ? Why, we're here on a mission ! 

We are here, sons and daughters of God, 
To tread down unrighteous ambition. 

And to walk where the angels have trod. 

My deeds — ah, the good ones are shining 
Like the beautiful stars of the night; 

But the bad, serpent-like, are entwining 
Tvound my green, spreading tree of delight. 



sorrow's lessons. 189 

That our deeds will follow us yonder 

Is a truism well understood; 
And that's why all men should oft ponder 

O'er their deeds, both the bad and the good. 

ISept. 10, 1890. 



SORROW'S LESSONS. 

fHERE are lessons sorrow teaches 
That expand the human heart ; 
There are sermons that it preaches 
Loftier than are reached by art. 
And the ringing tones of gladness 

Xever thrill the human soul, 
Like the soft, sweet tones of sadness 
Bursting forth without control. 

When bright, glowing orbs were streaming 

With the floods of holy pain, 
O'er the star whose glorious beaming 

We shall never see sgain. 
Then the lamp of inspiration 

Has burned brightly in man's breast. 
Telling him that all creation. 

Both in life and death, are blessed. 

The sad loved ones who are weeping 

For the one who passed away. 
Are all in the Lord's safe keeping. 

And their night will change to day ; 
For the darkest, saddest picture 

That a skeptic's brush can paint 
Will shine forth with living splendor 

When 'tis finished by a saint. 



190 sorrow's lessons. 

Gather round the cherished flower 

That the frosts of death have killed; 
Do not stay the gentle shower 

That a bursting heart has spilled; 
For, as darkling clouds grow brighter 

When the rain-drops take their leave, 
So will human hearts grow lighter 

When with tears the mourners grieve. 

Did we feel no pain at parting. 

We would feel no joy to meet; 
Did we never taste the bitter, 

We could never sense the sweet; 
Did our loved ones never perish, 

They would not seem half so dear; 
For we often fail to cherish 

Even angels while they're here. 

When the loved ones have been covered 

With the humble valley's sod, 
And the soul that round you hovered 

Has gone forth to meet its God, 
Then resolve, with His assistance. 

That 'gainst all that is not right, 
You will offer strong resistance, 

And will conquer in life's fight. 

If you loved the one departed. 

Work, and humbly trust in God; 
He will heal the broken-hearted 

Who the path of honor trod; 
But we cannot reach that valley 

Where joy fills the human soul, 
Till we've sailed upon that ocean 

Where the waves of sorrow roll. 

Dec. 31, 1890. 



WHY SHOULD YE FALTER? 191 

WHY SHOULD YE FALTER? 

d'AIXTS of God, why should ye falter 
^ When the war-clouds round ye lower? 
Lay your all upon the altar, 

As ye oft have done before ; 
Everything that God has given 

Freely place at His command, 
And ye never shall be driven 

From the rock on which ye stand. 

Floods may wash the mighty mountains 

To the raging, restless deep ; 
Fire may burn the gushing fountains 

Ere they spring from where they sleep ; 
God may smite each mighty nation 

Till it sinks 'neath ruin's wave, 
But the rock of your salvation 

Is the refuge of the brave. 

When the clouds around ye darkle, 

And the thunders roll above, 
Let that fire within you sparkle 

Which was kindled by God's love ; 
Show the world that Christian meekness 

Is not cowardice and fear. 
And that strength exists in weakness 

When men's consciences are clear. 

Are there any who dare cower 

When they hear the war-drum beat? 
Who would kneel before that power 

Which treads truth beneath its feet? 
Who would shrink before the dangers 

That their Captain bids them face ? 
Let them go, they are not strangers 

To dishonor and disgrace. 



1 !»2 xMUST WE PART ? 

N^o such men e'er won the freedom 

Of this great and glorious land; 
They are counted in that army 

Known as " Fortune's Favored Band 
And the God ot earth and heaven 

ISTeeds them not to fight His cause ; 
From His ranks they will be driven 

By the ones who scorn His laws. 

There are agels up in heaven 

Whom the Savior can command, 
Yet the privilege is given 

Man to join His chosen band; 
But 'tis He who leads His forces, 

Those above and those below; 
And His chariots and His horses 

With bright, dazzling splendor glow. 

Not alone are we weak mortals 

Fighting in this deadly fight. 
Far beyond death's gloomy portals 

There are warriors clothed in white; 
There our Captain stands in glory, 

Lifting high His shining blade, 
While His warriors both in heaven 

And on earth stand undismayed. 

Jan. 1, IS'Jl. 



MUST WE PART? 

rST we part to-night forever? 
^ Are our dreams of love all o'er? 
Must the hearts which beat together 
Beat apart forever more? 



THE WITHERED FLOWERS-. 193 

I had hoped — but all is over; 

I will not, my love, complain. 
I can never be thy lover, 

Though I feel a lover's pain. 

There will come a bright to-morrow; 

Yes, I know the sun will rise. 
I'll not be a slave to sorrow, 

Though my star fell from the skies. 

Now, one kiss and I will leave you: 
You have said it — we must part. 

For the world I would not grieve you, 
Though I keenly feel grief's dart. 

I must leave thee broken-hearted. 

But you deem 'tis for the best. 
We have met and loved and parted, 

And will trust God for the rest. 



THE WITHERED FLOWERS. 
7|J [THERE D and dead are the flowers that she gave 



me; 



The dews of my sadness have fallen in vain. 
Sweet token of love, I have thought I could save thee 
By cheering thy life with the showers of my pain. 

But vain were my hopes! life from thee has departed; 

Gone is thy fragrance, and withered thy bloom, 
Zet here where I lay thee a germ has been started 

Whose blossom shall wave o'er the dust of the 
tomb. 



194 . TO ANNIE. 

'Tis the sweet germ of love, and it never can perish ; 

The white frosts of death are its life's sweetest dew. 
'Tis a germ that the life of my spirit will cherish 

When the heart has been withered in which it once 
grew. 

Ah, my sweet, withered flowers, all their beauty has 
faded ; 

The fair hand that plucked them is withering clay. 
The dark cloud has appeared that forever has shaded 

The orb that illumines mortality's day. 

Ah, my sweet, withered flowers, thy dear ashes shall 
cover 
The heart that now moistens thy dry, faded leaves. 
Till my darling returns to conduct her sad lover 

Where the eyes never weep, and the heart never 
grieves. 

May 25, 1891. 



TO ANNIE. 



I HEN I saw those bright orbs bathed in " warm 
dews of sadness," 
And heard the deep sigh that thy heart could not 
keep. 
Do not think that my spirit lost none of its gladness, 
Because it was not given power to weep. 

Do not think, my dear friend, because no word was 
spoken. 
My soul did not thrill with an earnest desire 
To comfort the heart that I knew was near broken, 
And quench the hot flames of thy grief's raging 
fire. 



TO ANNIE. 195 

No, my heart would have gladly received thy heart's 
sorrow, 

My spirit would gladly have felt thy soul's pain; 
But we cannot direct grief's invisible arrow, 

Nor purge out with wishes its deep crimson stain. 

I remember in childhood the kiss of a mother 

Could gladden the heart that was throbbing with 
grief. 

But since then I've felt pangs that the kiss of another. 
One dearer than life, could not bring me relief. 

It may be, dearest friend, while I write you are weep- 
ing, 
For hearts crushed and broken heal not in a day; 

And remembrance of those who are quietly sleeping 
Oft sadden our souls till they burst through their 
clay. 

I can only remind you the dead are still living. 
That what we call death is a glorious birth; 

That these trials to our spirits our Father is giving 
To fit them to dwell on an eternal earth. 

I would also remind you that hearts crushed and 
broken 

Can be by the power of God quickly healed : 
Believe in the kind words that our Savior has spoken, 

Nor doubt not the truths which to-day are revealed. 

The dread Angel of Death is an angel of beauty; 

He comes to direct toiling man to his home ; 
And the being who lives for his God and his duty. 

Never cowers with fear when that Angel doth come. 

I shall never forget how we met — how we parted ; 

While life thrills this casket, my spirit shall pray 
For the maiden who sat by my side broken-hearted. 

As we gazed on that fair form of withering clay. 



196 LINES ADDRESSED TO 

May the blessings of God fall upon thee like showers, 
That joy may again find a place in thy heart; 

May thy pathway be strewn with the fairest of flowers, 
Till you meet those you love where friends never 
shall part. 

Jlai) 27, 1890. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO- 



^(ES, my love, I have seen many faces 

That have shone with a beauty divine. 
But with all their soft sweetness and graces, 
To me there is no face like thine. 

When I gaze on thy supernal beauty, 
What I feel mortal tongue cannot tell; 

If to love were my soul's only duty. 

Then my soul would perform it too well. 

And thy heart is as true and as tender 
As the hearts of the angels above — 

Ah, fair maid, do not make an offender 
Of the one you have promised to love. 

When those bright orbs upon me are shining. 
How my soul thrills with raptures of bliss ! 

When those white arms are round me entwining 
And our lips fondly meet in a kiss, 

Then I feel that this cold world's unkindness 

Has taught me to value thy worth; 
And that love, whether madness or blindness. 

Is the whole of our heaven on earth. 



June 7, 1891. 



THE farmer's daughter. 197 

THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER. 



H, her face is sweet and pretty, 
And at times she is so kind, 
lat it seems to me a pity 
She has such a giddy mind. 



Yes, she loves the country dances. 
And she always has a beau ; 

But he gets not half her glances. 
And she soon will bid him go. 

She is like a forest fairy ; 

Just to see her is a treat. 
For she's always gay and merry, 

And she always looks so sweet. 

If she only had the training, 

She would make some man a wife ; 

But I fear he'd hear complaining 
Ere she settled down in life. 

If you saw her beaux around her 
You would think she were a queen; 

But the right one has not found her, 
Tho' I think she is sixteen. 

She has one beau tall and homely, 
With a lantern for a cheek; 

And another short and comely, 
But too innocent to speak. 

She's another with a shoulder 
Like a butcher's round of beef; 

And a lean one ten years older. 
But she brings them all to grief. 



198 "arise, MY soul!" 

She treats them all with kindness. 
And she looks so like a dove 

That each gawky, in his blindness. 
Thinks he is her only love. 

But I think there'll be a slaughter 

Soon among this motley crew. 
If that farmer's lovely daughter 
Doesn't learn a thing or two. 
Jtine 2, 1891. 



"ARISE, MY SOUL!" 

RISE, O my soul! from the couch of thy slum- 
bers ; 

Too long thou hast rested on soft beds of ease; 

Tho' humble thy voice and imperfect thy numbers, 

Let not the warm blood of exertion now freeze. 

Remember the days of thy sorrow and sadness; 

Forget not the lessons that thy grief has taught; 
That labors of love will conduct man to gladness; 

That good can be found, it it only is sought. 

While warm blood of life through these channels are 
flowing, 
And these wondrous hands are not bound with a 
chain; 
While manifold blessings my God is bestowing, 
My spirit should toil, and should never complain. 

But I must confess that it often feels weary, 
And sighs for its sweet home so far, far away; 

And the path of my life seems so lonely and dreary. 
When dreaming of one who was too dear to stay. 



A JEALOUS LOVER. 199 

My God will I trust in these days of probation ; 

His Spirit will shine through the gloom of my soul. 
I'll light for His cause, 'tis the day of salvation — 

No, baseness shall not bring me under control. 

Arise, my soul! from the dust of thy slumbers; 

Oh, why should ye seek for a cradle of ease? 
The proud world may scorn the weak strains of thy 
numbers. 
But weak as they are, there are souls they will 
please. 
July 13, 1S91. 



A JEALOUS LOVER. 



^ 






ES, it is true, I have written a letter. 
Asking her why she has treated me so; 
Telling her that she must treat me much better, 
If she don't wish me to tell her to go. 

I shall not break my heart over a maiden, 
For there's so many of them in the world; 

And she my spirit with trouble has laden. 
Till my war-flag has at last been unfurled, 

I have been told that true love is but blindness. 
But I have seen, and can now clearly see. 

That she has faults, and her cruel unkindness 

Has more than once played the mischief with me. 

Yet there was love in the eyes that were beaming 
Like the bright stars as we sat here that night. 
When the soft moon-beams in white waves were stream- 
ing 
Through the dark branches that waved in their 
light. 



200 WHERE I WOULD HAVE MY HOME. 

Oh, if she only would listen to reason, 
We could be happy, of that I am sure; 

But she insists that to flirt is not treason, 
And that I cannot, nor will not endure. 

Yes, I am glad that I wrote her that letter. 
Asking her why she has treated me so ; 

Telling her that she must treat me much better, 
And if she don't — I shall tell her to go! 

JuJii 15, 1891. 



WHERE I WOULD HAVE MY HOME. 

(H, give me a home where the wild birds are 
(^ singing, 

I sigh for the charms of the cool, shady grove, 
Where concordant sounds are forever heard ringing. 

And everything shines with the brightness of love. 

Oh, take me away from the charms of the city, 
I hate its confusion, its turmoil and strife; 

My eyes till with tears and my heart aches with pity 
For those who are forced to lead such a dull life. 

If one whom I loved did not love the wild flowers 
That blossom and wave o'er the dark fertile, plain. 

If she paused not to rest 'neath the grove's shady 
bowers, 
My heart would be pierced with the arrow of pain. 

I have stood in the grove when the thunders did rattle, 
When lightnings hurled giant trees dead at my feet, 

When all nature's forces rushed forward to battle, 
All this to my soul was congenial and sweet. 



THOUGHTS ON DEATH. 201 

When thunders are hushed and red lightnings have 
vanished, 
When trumpets of war are not heard any more; 
When gloom of the clouds from their presence is ban- 
ished, 
And angry convulsions of nature are o'er, 

Then my spirit responds to the spirit of calmness 
That broods o'er the forces which erst were so wild ; 

And nature caresses my soul with a fondness 
That long ago won the sad heart of her child. 

Oh, give me a home where the wild birds are singing, 
I sigh for the charms of the cool, shady grove, 

Where concordant tones are forever heard ringing; 
I long to dwell there with the maiden I love. 



THOUGHTS OX DEATH. 

A FRAGMENT. 

fHIS life is like a summer evening's dream; 
We now are here, but long we cannot stay. 
E'en as a leaf that's thrown in yonder stream, 
And toward the ocean is fast borne away; 
So we, like leaves, upon life's stream do play. 
Our efforts weak can never stay the tide, 
Whe'er tossed and tumbled by the surging spray. 
Or smoothly o'er its glassy surface glide. 
Time's stream still bears us on toward that ocean 
wide. 

The sun of life, with golden rays of light, 
Now shines on him whose youthful hand 
Doth trace these lines; but soon death's clouds of 
night 



202 THOUGHTS ON DEATH. 

Will gather o'er his head, and then no place 
Can e'er be found upon this world's broad face 
Where friend or foe will meet with him again : 
But somewhere in the realms of boundless space 
He still shall live, for life cannot be slain. 
Immortal is the soul; o'er all things it shall reign. 

I dare not love, with all the power of love, 
A being that these mortal eyes have seen ; 
But in those realms of bliss, far, far above, 
There reign a Mighty King and lovely Queen. 
With them I know my burning soul has been. 
Father! Mother! in pity hear my cries! 
Grant that thy son, while in this mortal dream! 
May not, through sin, break those endearing ties 
That bind man to his God and chain the earth and 
skies. 

Far sooner would I hear Death Angel's call 
Than see that form, in whate'er shape it came, 
Approach that e'en could cause my spirit's fall, 
And rob me of that hoped-for place and name. 
'Tis far beyond the crumbling peaks of fame! 
My spirit's home !the vale I've seen in dreams ! 
Where cowering Guilt will hang his head in shame. 
E'en on the banks of those Elysian streams, 
Where my soul roamed in youth and mused on glori- 
ous themes. 

I mourn not that I soon must fall asleep. 
And that my frame must moulder in the clay; 
But, oh, these eyes would never cease to weep. 
If in this world I ever had to stay. 
This life is but a darkling night, one ray 
Shines forth to guide us through the midnight gloom; 
But, oh, how bright must be that orb of day 
Which glows behind the cold and silent tomb, 
Where hopes can never fade and flowers forever 
bloom ! 



THOUGHTS ON DEATH. 203 

Why should we mourn because we all must die ? 

What is there here on earth that we do find 

That makes us dread to float to yonder sky, 

And leave our pains and sorrows far behind ? 

What is this dread that seizes all mankind ? 

Is it to die, or being dead they fear ? 

'Tis a disease fed by the guilty mind 

That makes man tremble when his friend draws near, 

To guide him to a home which all men love so dear. 

When soul doth leave this withering, mortal clay 

That chains it to this little mound of earth, 

Perchance it feels how long has been its stay 

From that bright world where spirits had their birth. 

Perchance 'tis pained to note the hush of mirth. 

But joy must fill its breast to now behold 

That brilliant home, which is of greater worth 

Than all that can be bought with shining gold, 

Than all that time can stamp with that sad seal of old. 

'Tis sweet to know that death can do no harm 
To life, though it may change its form and place. 
It has no sting, but seems to have a charm 
For those who bravely look it in the face. 
We do not wish to always keep our place 
As mortal beings, though we fain would stay 
Until our God has called us from this race 
To one which still leads upward to the day; 
There is no cause to mourn when good men pass 
away. 

More cause is there to mourn for those who stay; 
We know not what their after life may be. 
They now may dwell within the light of day; 
The night will come, and then they may not see. 
We are not saved ; we never can be free 
Till we have placed all sin beneath our feet, 
And ceased to pluck the fruit from Folly's tree. 



204 THOUGHTS ON DEATH. 

And learned to seek for fruit that is more sweet, 
The fruit that is to make the spirit's joys complete. 

Our loved ones would not come to earth again. 

They left what we in time will gladly leave. 

1^0 mortal being can be free from pain; 

ISTo heart so hard that does not sometimes grieve. 

But 'tis a lesson learned when we believe 

That Sorrow is a teacher in Life's school, 

And that she is one who will not deceive, 

But show a man what passions in him rule; 

There is no fire of grief that tears will not help cool. 

I love to think of those who've passed away, 
Who won that which none but the brave can win; 
For though their dust lies mingling with the clay, 
'Twill glow around their spirits bright again. 
Ko more they'll hear life's battle's dreadful din. 
Where blood flows like the bursting clouds of rain; 
^No more they'll feel the poisonous darts of sin, 
For they have felt and borne a mortal's pain. 
And proved to God and man that they were fit to 
reign. 

But we, weak mortals, still must keenly feel 

The gleaming, deadly poisoned darts of hate, 

Which all who place upon their brow the seal 

By which they enter at the narrow gate, 

Have ever felt. There are no truly great 

Whose paths are through " a wilderness of flowers." 

But, in a sense, how sad has been the fate 

Of those who have communed with heavenly powers. 

And listened to their souls in trial's darkest hours ! 



PLEASURE-SEEKERS. 205 

PLEASURE-SEEKERS. 

pLE A SURE-SEEKERS oft invite me 
**■ To enjoy the canyon breeze, 
As it rustles through the branches 
Of the tall, majestic trees; 
Oft invite me to the sea-shore 
Where the sounding billows roll — 
"Throw away those musty papers, 
And refresh thy drooping soul." 

Pleasure-seekers! pleasure-seekers! 
They abound in every town. 
Some are rushing to the mountains, 
Others seek the meadow's brown ; 
Others seek the bounds of ocean 
Where they while their lives away 
In a reckless, easy fashion — 
This is pleasure, so they say. 

Ah, I love the boundless ocean, 
And I love its rock-bound coast. 
There Pve watched the distant vessels 
That were on its bosom tossed; 
And the music ot its billows 
Has oft lulled my soul to rest, 
As I stood there worn and w^asted, 
Sad, disheartened and distressed. 

And I love the sable shadow 

Of the matchless mountain grove — 

Ah, my words are blown to atoms 

By the tempest of my love. 

He can never love it better 

Who has power to paint its sheen ; 

Nor will pleasure-seekers find there 

Anything I have not seen. 



206 PLEASURE-SEEKERS. 

But I've seen so many seekers 
After pleasure in this world, 
That the name to me is hateful, 
For there are so many hurled 
To the darkest pits of sorrow 
Yf ho are seeking after joy — 
Men to pluck the fruits of pleasure 
Will the seeds of it destroy. 

Yes, my soul is often weary, 

And my heart is often sad; 

There are times when life seems dreary. 

There are times when I feel bad. 

And I had my picnic ready 

For a year and forty days, 

Looking out for pleasure finders, 

Yet I saw no camp-fire's blaze. 

But at last I saw a party 
"Who were seeking after right; 
They were groping in the darkness. 
And were toiling when 'twas light. 
I was tired of seeking pleasure. 
For it seemed so far away. 
So I joined this little party ; 
There I found it, strange to say. ■ >, 

God will give the spirit pleasure 
That will learn to do His will. 
And from truth's exhaustless fountain 
It can freely drink its fill. 
It will shine with holy angels 
When those seekers howl below — 
Aye, 'twill shine above the angels 



Where celestial bodies glow, 



Avg. I, 1891. 



LINES TO 

LINES TO 



207 



Written immediately after a short spell of sickness. 

LL the days of ray illness have vanished, 
And I now feebly bend o'er this page, 
That the thoughts may return which were banished, 
When I sank 'neath the dread fever's rage. 

When the tire of the fever was burning 
In the blood that when normal is warm. 
Then my spirit was hopefully yearning 
For the stroke of Death's powerful arm. 

And I saw myself quietly sleeping 

In the dust of the cold, silent grave; 

As friends turned away moaning and weeping 

From the mound where soon wild flowers will wave. 

And the angels of God took my spirit 
To that home where I've oft longed to go; 
There I saw what the just will inherit 
When their work is completed below. 

But I saw one on earth sad and lonely; 
Unfeio-ned sorrow was writ on her brow. 
All the rest had departed, she only 
Stooped to weep o'er my lonely grave now. 

Then she gathered the fairest of flowers, 
Till she covered my grave's dreary sod ; 
And her tears fell upon them like showers. 
As she poured forth her soul to its God. 

I would gladly remain here forever. 
If to leave would e'er cause thy soul pain ; 
And though sad were my life, I'd endeavor 
To live bravely, and never complain. 



208 LINES ADDRESSED TO- 



When disease on man's body is preying, 
And he feels his vitality sink, 
Then he finds his soul joyfully saying 
Things which well men oft shudder to think. 

But the warm blood of health is now flowing 
Through the veins that seemed withering and dry; 
In my soul brightly life's fire is burning — 
Ah, 'tis sweeter to live than to die ! 

Aug. 1, 1891. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO . 

Written on a beautiful moonlight evening. 

iHI'AINTLY the breeze through the branches is 
-"■ sighing, 

Myriads of shadows flit over the ground; 
On the flushed rose the cold dew-drop is lying. 

Soft, silvery moon-beams are floating around. 

Softly and sweetly the world's life is sleeping, 
Rocked to its rest in the cradle of night; 

Over the rocks the brook's billows are leaping, 
Mixing their foam with the moon's mellow light. 

Over the stream the tall willow is waving, 
Drooping as mourners droop over the grave, 

While in the waters its shadow is laving. 

Chasing the moon-beams away from the wave. 

On the soft banks of the stream I am dreaming. 

Of one as pure as the seraphs above. 
While the soft moon-beams around me are streaming, 

Fancy creates the fair form of my love. 

Gently her feet press the foam of the billow; 

Bathed in the moon-beams, her form seems divine, 
Quickly has flown the dark shade of the willow ; 

Shadows must flee when such beauty doth shine. 



LIFE AND DEATH. 209 

Slowly ascending, the white foam is clinging 
To her feet white as the pure, driven snow ; 

Choicest of moon-beams the zephyrs are bringing, 
Till her white robes with these gems are aglow. 

Gently she floats o'er the tall, drooping willow, 
Sweetly she smiles as her eyes meet my gaze. 

Shading my own with the flowers of my pillow, 
Vainly my soal strives to utter its praise. 

Love ! art thou only a phantom of madness? 

Come, let me clasp thy fair form to my breast! 
One fond embrace would dispel all my sadness — 

No one but thee have I ever caressed ! 

Faithful my vow has been kept — is thine broken ? 

Ah, no, my soul knows thy spirit is true. 
ISTow I behold on thy bosom love's token — 

Come, and the pledges of love we'll renew. 

Come! all my being with one thought is thrilling; 

Let thy lips tremble on mine in one kiss. 
Then I will leave thee, love, and would be willing 

To suffer whole years for that moment of bliss. 

Ah, 'tis but fancy, the vision is flying; 

Still the dark shadows flit over the ground. 

for thee thy lone lover is sighing. 

While all the world's wrapt in silence profound. 
Aug. 13, 1891. 



LIFE AND DEATH. 

.||>ATHED in floods of golden light, 
'^ Fast the orb of day is sinking 
O'er the purple hills ; the sight 
Sets my idle brain to thinking. 



210 LIFE AND DEATH. 

Now the orb of this my life, 

Like the noon-day sun is glowing. 

What care I for storms of strife, 

Through these veins youth's blood is flowing ! 

O'er my country freedom's flag, 
With its stars and stripes, is waving. 
Far behind her nations lag, 
They what she has w^on are craving. 

O'er the vale where I w^as born. 
Heavenly rays of truth are streaming, 
Showing man he should not mourn. 
This our fallen race redeeming. 

Blessings that I cannot name. 
On my head like dews are falling; 
While a voice that thrills my frame. 
To my spirit oft is calling. 

All around me there is joy. 

For the sun of revelation 

Shines through clouds that do annoy 

Every soul, in every nation. 

But the orb of this my life. 

Though now bright, will soon be fading. 

Deadly is this mortal strife. 

Though the heavenly powers are aiding. 

Far away the hills of death, 
Dark and sterile high are rising. 
What is this my mortal breath ! 
What is all the world is prizing ! 

Fast toward those dreary hills 
That bright orb of life is speeding; 
While I muse beside these rills, 
It goes onward, never heeding. 



THE BATTLE BETWEEN TRUTH AND ERROR. 211 

When its edges, fringed with gold 

Kiss the brow of Death's dark mountain, 

When these burning lips, then cold, 

Quafi their last draught from life's fountain, 

Then this glowing, restless soul. 
Standing on that summit dreary, 
Shall behold its shining goal. 
And forget that it is weary. 

Onward, upward, it shall fly 
To its dazzling home of glory, 
Where companions never die — 
Ah, life's tale's a wondrous story ! 
Aug. 21,1891. 



THE BATTLE BETWEEN TRUTH AND ERROR. 

IgrARK ! the hoarse, dull drum of war 
■'■(^ Sends its pealing tones of thunder. 
To the nations near and far, 
Filling all the world with wonder ! 

Let the nations close their eyes. 
But a change is surely coming. 
God has heard His children's cries, 
'Tis the angels who are drumming ! 

Truth and Error don't agree; 
Both are strong, but one must perish. 
God has made His children free. 
They may fight for what they cherish. 

But the battle must go on. 
Till the blood-red flag of Error 
Shall be torn and trampled down. 
Then will cease, " The Reign of Terror." 



212 ALL THAT IS, IS FOR THE BEST. 

There are those who will not fight, 
But who, serpent-like, are crawling 
In the dust where men of might. 
Pierced with shot and shell are falling. 

Let the war-drum wildly beat. 
Let its thunders roll and rattle! 
]S^one but cowards will retreat, 
Honor loves the field of battle ! 

Jesus Christ will never fall. 

And His sword will ne'er be broken ; 

Saber stroke and rifle ball 

Harm Him not — a God has spoken. 

And the snow-white flag of Truth 
Will in time o'er earth be wavins:: 
Right still stands in strength of youth. 
He will win what man is craving. 

When the hoarse war-drum shall sleep, 
When all evil powers are shaken. 
May we have no cause to weep 
For the part that we have taken. 

May we greet our noble King 

In the mansions of His glory; 

ISTor feel conscience's painful sting, 

When we tell Him this life's story. 
Sept. 5, 1891. 



ALL THAT IS, IS FOR THE BEST. 

rF\AN", perform thy sacred duty, 

* And you surely shall be blest. 
Fields of toil are rife with beauty — 
All that is, is for the best. 



ALL THAT IS, IS FOR THE BEST. 213 

Do not waste thy strength in weeping ; 

Soon thy spirit shall find rest. 
Those you love are only sleeping — 

All that is, is for the best. 

Death may seem a gloomy portal ; 

But the angels have confessed 
That it leads to life immortal, 

And to die is for the best. 

]^ever be a slave to sorrow; 

Death's to be the final test ; 
Souls will shine beyond tomorrow — 

All that is, is for the best. 

Life at times may seem a trial ; 

But 'tis not an idle jest. 
Toil, and practice self-denial — 

All that is, is for the best. 

When the gloom of doubt surrounds thee, 

And thy soul is sore distressed. 
Look to God, and He will save thee — 

All that is, is for the best. 

When thy sun of life is sinking 

O'er the hills in yonder west. 
You will be sustained by thinking 

That 'tis only for the best. 

When you reach your home in heaven, 

And receive eternal rest, 
You will know why trials were given. 

And will say " 'Twas for the best." 



Sept. 5, 1891 . 



214 THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY. 

"THE I^ATAL DAY OF LIBERTY." 

An Oration delivered in Bloomington, Idaho, July 4th, 1890. 

.^IZ-'OURTEEN years more than a century ago the same 
brilliant orb of light that a few hours since climbed 
those majestic mountains, and which now looms high 
above their loftiest peak, shed his first ray of light on 
a nation that was destined to become the greatest that 
had ever suffered the pangs of mortal birth. 

Bright was the dawning of that day when the 
fair, celestial goddess of liberty arose, and placed her- 
self at the head of that brave band of patriots, 

"In face of death who dared to fling 
Defiance to a tyrant king." 

Dark was the midnight gloom which for ages had 
o'ershadowed the fair face of the earth. 

" Man, proud man ! 
Dressed in a little brief authority, 
Most ignorant of what he's most assured, 
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven 
As makes the angels weep." 

" What a piece of work is a man ! How noble in 
reason ! how infinite in faculty! In form and moving, 
how express and admirable ! In action, how like an 
angel ! In apprehension, how like a god ! the beauty 
of the world ! the paragon of animals." 

This is the being who had been trampled upon as 
though he were a worm ! crushed like the clods of 
the valley beneath the feet of the same God-like being. 

When it is remembered that man is the son of 
God, it is not strange that he should be God-like; but, 
knowing this, it indeed seems strange that he should 
sink so low as he often does. 

What excuse can tyrants and despots give for 
having treated their fellow men as though they were 
groveling beasts ? 



"the natal day of liberty." 215 

Prompted by the enemy of God and man, they 
have converted fruitful fields into barren deserts; they 
have driven man forth from his quiet, peaceful home, 
to dwell in the cold, sterile mountains. 

They who have sought the alpine lakes and shady 
groves that they might commune with nature, and 
with nature's God, have been startled from their sweet 
dreams of immortality by the hoarse, dull drum of war. 
Seated on high thrones of dazzling splendor, they 
have gazed with tearless eyes on the red stream of life 
as it gushed from their brother's heart. 

In every land and in every age, a just God has 
had cause to complain of " the inhumanity of man to 
his fellow man." 

Men enslaved develop those elements of evil that 
exist in their nature, while those elements of divinity are 
left to starve and die for want of proper nourishment 
and exercise. Among all the dark and diversified paths 
that men were traveling, not one of them led to hap- 
piness. On the loftiest peak of mortal fame stood 
ambition's slave, while far below on the level plain 
stood the jeering crowd laughing him to scorn. The 
king who had waded through rivers of blood that he 
might place a golden crown upon his feverish brow, 
now lay tossing on " his sleepless couch," because he 
knew that were justice to overtake him, not only the 
crown but the head that it encircled, would be lost. 
The scourged and trembling serf was borne to the 
earth by the weight of pent-up curses which he dare 
not let escape. 

Although they had taken difierent roads, and were 
strangers to one another, misery was the companion of 
them all. 

In the meridian of time Jesus Christ, the Son of 
God, came to the earth and endeavored, by the sunlight 
of His presence, to drive away the dark clouds of error. 
He labored with all the energy and ambition of a God 



216 " THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY." 

to lift men from the pits of degreclation into which 
they had fallen. He told them that they were all 
brethren, and pointed out a path, and told them if 
they would follow it, it would lead them to life ; He 
offered them the torch of God which would so illumine 
this path that they might travel in perfect safety, even 
in the dark hour of midnight. But, alas! " they loved 
darkness more than light, because their deeds were 
evil." They took their King, their Eedeemer, their 
God, and put Him to a cruel death. "Ingratitude, 
thou marble-hearted fiend!" 

Pure Religion so loved the peoples of this world 
that she left her beautiful, starry mansion in the 
heavens, and came with the Savior to make her abode 
among mortals. But she, like her Advocate, found 
no place to rest her weary head. The rich and the 
poor, the prince and the slave, all men and all women, 
in every land where she was known, consciously or 
unconsciously, bade her depart. Finding herself an 
outcast in a world she had come to redeem, a stranger 
in the land where she would gladly have built her 
home and lived forever, she prepared to depart. With 
tears of pity streaming from her sad eyes of mercy, she 
cast one last, sad look at earth, then, with her beauti- 
ful, beaming face turned toward the skies, she spread 
her white wings and soared away to heaven. 

Pure religion was now far beyond the shades of 
mortal gaze. Jesus Christ, the Son of God, had long 
ago been slain. Under these conditions, is it strange 
that " Darkness fell upon the earth and gross darkness 
upon the minds of the people ?" 

Men and women were seen wandering about in 
the "Vast Wilderness of Life," many of them seeking 
earnestly for that path which the Savior had told them 
to travel. But alas ! they had refused the torch of 
God, without which no man can find and travel in that 
straight and narrow way. 



"the natal day of liijerty." 217 

Pretending followers of Jesus now began to teach 
a strange doctrine. Words that He had used, 
the meaning of which was well understood, were now 
given a different meaning. 

In short man began to formulate plans for the 
salvation (damnation) of his fellow-man. "The blind 
were leading the blind," and every step that they took 
they plunged farther and farther into the dark night 
of error. 

But they went still farther than this. Not being 
content with simply leading men into gloomy paths of 
error, they now began to drive them in, still claiming 
to be followers of Jesus, the sublime preacher of The 
Gospel of freedom. 

I shall not dwell upon the cruelties that were in- 
flicted upon those who refused to be driven like dumb 
beasts, but will here state, that the right to worship 
God according to the dictates of one's conscience is a 
sacred right, given to man by the Creator of the 
universe, and that he who attemps to steal it, what- 
ever his position may be among men, is in the sight of 
God, a thief and a traitor. 

As the ages rolled by, streaks of daylight began 
to appear in the east. Wise men reasoned among 
themselves and said: " Surely the clouds of night's 
darkness are fleeing away." Men with the lamp of 
inspiration burning within their souls had arisen, and 
that light had been shed athwart the thick gloom. 

One of these men, guided by this light, had dis- 
covered a new world, and the persecuted of the differ- 
ent nations began to flow to it. It soon became the 
pleasant home of a happy and industrious people. But, 
alas! the despot's power was soon felt even here. 

Notwithstanding the Almighty God had said that 
they who inhabit this land should be free. King 
George determined to make of them slaves. 

The colonists used all honorable means to obtain 



218 "the natal day of liberty." 

redress for the wrongs which they were sujfering. Al- 
though their parent country had treated them most 
cruelly, they were willing to forgive her, because she 
was their parent. 

Even after she had sent over armies to waste their 
substance and spill their blood, the bravest of the col- 
onists still hoped for reconciliation. But when the 
light of the truth began to dawn upon their minds, 
and they saw that their king was a cruel despot, who 
delighted in wasting their substance and spilling their 
blood, they asserted their manhood, and on the fourth 
day of July, 1776, they arose and cried out with one 
voice : 

" Give us liberty^ or give us death." 
The Declaration of Independence made reconcilia- 
tion impossible. The colonists must now either stand 
or fall. If they stood, they would stand on the soil of 
freedom; if they fell, they would fall fighting for a 
principle that is dearer than life to every noble man. 

Well did these brave heroes know the perils to 
which they exposed themselves. It was one thing to 
declare tliemselves free; it was quite another thing to 
make that declaration good. 

The one could be done by a small drop of ink 
falling upon a pieceEof paper; the other would require 
toil, hardships, sufferings, and the sacrifice of many a 
noble life. 

But the knowledge that their cause was just sus- 
tained them throughout the whole period of that long 
and bloody war. 

When with bare and bleeding feet they waded 
through the deep snows ; when they lay down on the 
cold, damp bed of earth with nothing to shelter them 
from the merciless storm ; when with flashing eyes 
they rushed like maddened lions upon their cruel 
foes; — aye, and when they lay mortally wounded on 
the blood-red field of battle, the white frosts of heaven 



"THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY." 219 

fell upon their upturned, and no less white faces; 
slowly the cold, pale moon arose and shed her silvery 
light athwart the gastly scene. 

In all these sufierings the goddess of liberty never 
deserted them. 

She whispered words of hope when black despair 
was felt within the very air that they breathed, and 
through their love for her, they were enabled to win a 
glorious victory. 

The whole human family owe to our fiithers their 
warmest gratitude for what God enabled them to ac- 
complish. The sun of liberty that arose on the 4th day 
of July, 1776, has shed his warm rays of light on 
all the nations, and millions who are now unborn 
will yet bask in the sunshine of freedom be- 
queathed to them by those noble and illustrious men. 
But tyrants still live; despots still rule. Let them 
study the book of the past and learn wisdom, or let 
them close their eyes and perish. 

May the fires of liberty that burned in the souls 
of our fathers ever illumine the souls of their sons. 
And Thou Eternal God, who sits on the gleaming 
throne of heaven, pierce with Thine all-searching eye 
this external seeming of all men, thattheir souls may 
be exposed to the sunlight of Thy gaze ; and grant 
that the soul that is poisoned with sin and deceit, the 
vaunting hero with a coward heart, may tremble and 
cower before the gaze of Innocence; and grant that 
the soul that loves freedom may shine through this 
rough exterior of mortality to gladden the world with 
its light. Encase every honest man in the armor of 
unselfishness; breathe into his spirit the breath of Thy 
power; arm him with the sword of Virtue, the battle- 
axe of Truth, that he may go forth in the strength of 
Thy power, and never rest until the last enemy of 
eternal Liberty is sleeping in the cold and silent 
grave, and the glorious flag of freedom proudlv 
w aves o'er the whole world ! 



220 POETRY AND POETS. 



POETRY AND POETS. 

A FRAGMENT. 

MIGHTY sea now rolls before my gaze ; 

Vast, boundless, sailless, infinitely deep. 
The glory of my God doth o'er it blaze ; 
Its roaring waves are never hushed to sleep : 
Oh, how I long beneath those waves to creep ! 
E'en in its bed to grope for pearls and gold. 
Though angry waves above my head did leap, 
I there would seek until my youth were old 
For treasures that are there, "illimitable and untold." 

Vast, boundless sea, no mortal e'er shall know 

The wealth that lies beneath thy dark, cold wave. 

The trains of ages come and pause, then go. 

But still thy secrets rest in thine own grave. 

A few young men who were both skilled and brave 

Have stepped a few feet from thy shining shore, 

Then hastened back to find that dark, cold cave. 

Where all are lost to sight for evermore. 

And still thy angry waves do foam, and fret, and roar. 

0, Byron, I have pitied all thy woes; 

My tears of grief have fallen on thy page ; 

I've trembled when you cursed your cruel foes, 

And oft have felt the keen pangs of thy rage. 

Xo marvel that thy soul burst through its cage. 

For 'twas not born to linger long in clay. 

It knew not how a mortal course to gauge. 

But, ah, how it could mount on wings of day. 

And soar to lofty peaks where snows ne'er melt away ! 

If death came not to carry man away, 

'Nov old age stole the heat of manhood's prime; 



POETRY AND POETS. 221 

If raortal life were not a summer's day, 

But life on earth extended through all time, 

Would not the soul of man grasp themes subhme ! 

Would he not plunge in depths that are unknown. 

And soar beyond the greatest poet's clime. 

To sit on lofty thought's celestial throne. 

Where she now sits a maid, proud, radiant, but alone? 

Lord Byron was a bard, alive or dead, 
For all his sins 'tis just that he atone ; 
But can we think that he has not been led 
To heights that he in this life had not known ? 
The seeds of genius which in him were sown 
Do not lie buried in the silent grave ; 
They live within his soul and it has flown — 
Wherever it may be, it still will crave 
To grasp the deep unknown, and 'mid wild scenes to 
rave. 

Oh, when this mortal frame is laid awa}', 

I can not think my soul will cease to learn ; 

But thoughts that now are tinged with sensual clay, 

I feel that I shall then have power to spurn ; 

Oh, how my trembling soul doth ever yearn 

To quench that fire that boiling blood doth flame! 

'Tis sweet to know that it will cease to burn. 

And that the soul will take its place and name, 

Where glory will not fade, and rest is found in fame. 

No limit is to what man's soul may know. 
When we do know that soul can never die. 
There is no cave so dark and deep below, 
ISTor mansion in that brilliant dome on high 
That man will not explore with beaming eye. 
The deep unknown will all be known in time, 
We ne'er can think that he will cease to try. 



222 POETRY AND POETS. 

Nor can we think that it will be a crime 

To seek for living truth, and crave all things sublime. 

My mortal life may fade and pass away 
Before I e'en can wander o'er the shore, 
To gather shells that in the sunlight lay, 
And listen to the wild wave's thundering roar ; 
But ere a life that never ends is oe'r, 
I'll stand upon that shining, golden strand; 
And think of things I dared not dream before. 
While Death's stream lay before me dark, unspanned. 
And Thought had never dwelt with scenes sublime 
and grand. 

When mortal chains are burst and hurled aside, 
I'll seek that mansion where my loved ones dwell; 
On cars of fire my eager soul shall ride. 
When it is free from earth's enchanting spell, 
I'll wander o'er those scenes I love so well — 
I roamed among them when I was a child, 
Before I heard the tolling of the bell 
That called nic to this region strange and wild. 
Where I might rise and shine, or sink debased, de- 
filed. 

In dreams I sometimes hear those roaring waves, 
And feel my soul has passed from earth away, 
To dive adown those cold and cheerless graves, 
Where sparkling gems of truth and wisdom lay : 
Though o'er its surface waves of midnight play, 
The ocean's bed doth shine with dazzling light, 
For each bright gem sheds forth a sparkling ray, 
And thus illumes the darkness of the night, — 
A wilderness of wealth that's hidden from man's si^ht. 



A dream's reality. 223 



A DREAM'S REALITY. 

0MY FATHER, before Thee in meekness I kneel, 
? With a wish to express what I cannot conceal. 
Let Thy Spirit brood over me while I indite 
Thoughts shaded with darkness, yet pregnant with 

light, 
Thoughts which have found their way in my soul and 

my brain, 
And I wish to express them to weaken my pain. 

Xot on my humble page would I have letters blaze, 
That attract those who do not with earnestness gaze 
On the great scenes of life as they unfold to view 
The lessons we're taught by the trials we pass through. 
And if there is a thought which now throbs in my 

brain 
That is low, 0, remove it, and purge out its stain, 
That the light of my soul may illumine my mind, 
And that they who look through these weak words 

may not find 
The serpent of error with his soft eyes of fire 
Concealed 'mid the flowers that some few may admire. 

0, my Father, Thou knowest my spirit is weak. 
But I now in the strength of humility seek 
For that power that stands e'en when worlds pass away; 
For that light that shines forth like the sun at noon-day; 
That illumines the gloom that o'ershadows the grave. 
That has placed swords of power in the hands of the 

brave. 
Till tyrants and despots have bitten the dust, 
And their swords have been broken and eaten with rust. 
All their brightness has faded like flowers of the field, 
And the worM to the strength of that power must yield. 



224 A dream's reality. 

There's a God up in heaven who gazes on man, 
And the latter may scheme and in wisdom may plan, 
But he never can thwart the great purpose of God, 
Nor e'er sever that chain called the great "iron-rod." 
When he thinks he is strong, it is then he is weak. 
And how vain are the words which his proud soul 

may speak! 
'Tishis Father who gives him his life's wondrous breath, 
And He takes it away, then what is he in death ? 
Much the same as he was when life flowed through his 

veins, 
He is one who must learn that a God rules and reigns. 

But it is of the hope and the joy I've received 
Since thy son in the name of the Savior believed. 
That I have been thinking, and now wish to speak 
Of that strength I obtained then when weary and weak; 
That perchance some weak spirit whose frail bark is 

tossed 
By the tempest that sweeps o'er the sea I have crossed. 
May learn the great truth that a God rules the storm; 
That the waves of life's ocean can do man no harm ; 
That he may not forget, when the tempests howl wild. 
To look through the gloom and say, "I am God's 

child. '^ 

Ah, if I am God's child, let the wild thunders roll. 
For a child of our God has an immortal soul. 
Let the waves fret and foam, and the wild tempest rage 
Till they beat down the walls of my soul's dreary cage; 
Let the fierce lightning's flash burn to ashes this clay. 
There is something within that will never decay; 
It will float like white foam on the dark, dreary wave, 
And will shine like a star o'er the deep, dismal grave. 
Tho' the sun's rays be changed into pencils of night. 
Yet the light of the soul will forever shine bright. 



A dream's reality. 225 

The sad tale I shall tell is an unvarnished tale — 
If the strength of a spirit that's weak does not fail, 
I shall speak of those things which I know to be true, 
And I trust while I speak, heaven's light will break 

through; 
That its warm, cheering rays may illumine this page, 
When this hand has been stricken and withered with 

age; 
But if that which I write is debasing and dark, 
May it leave on this white page a vanishing mark; 
And may my mortal eye see it wither and die, 
' Neath the pure rays of truth that descend from the sky. 

There is truth in the heavens and truth on the earth; 
We pass through vales of Truth to receive mortal birth; 
And e'en when Death's Angel has rocked us to sleep. 
We shall bathe in Truth's ocean so boundless and deep. 
And the bright star of Truth will illumine Truth's 

wave 
And if e'er we are saved, 'twill be truth that will save, 
So dark Error my spirit asks no odds of thee. 
For my bark would float over the Truth's boundless sea; 
I would even dive down 'neath Truth's silvery waves 
To obtain pearls of Truth that lie hid in Truth's graves. 

Since the heavens are illumined with celestial light. 
And a part has streamed forth on mortality's night, 
There is no need to write of things vague and unreal. 
We need only to tell what no soul can conceal. 
And the light that ig streaming from God's brilliant 

throne 
Is to nourish life's seeds which in darkness were sown; 
Nor life ever can live till it basks in that light — 
For it never was life to grope in gloomy night — 
To my soul such a life is a horrible death — 
I believe that life means more than breathing life's 

breath. 



226 A dream's reality. 

All worlds were created by Jehovah's great power, 
And the life of the soul, like the life of the tiower 
Receives of His sunshine, and His showers of rain 
Fall to gladden the life that waves over His plain; 
And the power of His voice wak^s the dead from their 

sleep, 
And He buries His w'orld 'neath the waves of His 

deep; 
Yet in kindness, He tells His sons what they should do, 
To be kind and forgiving, and faithful and true. 
That their hearts might expand, and their spirits might 

grow 
With the strength to receive what He longs to bestow. 

But I think I have promised to tell you a tale 
Of a youth who upon Life's great ocean set sail. 
There are millions that sail upon Life's stormy sea, 
AVho are tossed 'mid its breakers the same as was he. 
And could tell you sad tales that would make your 

eyes weep ; 
For the heart's saddest songs in the heart are asleep. 
And the soul's sweetest music, no ear ever heard, 
Nor was its deepest thought ever breathed into word. 
ITo, the soul has not strength to transmit what it feels; 
When it sings us one song there are scores it conceals. 

In a valley of peace, far away in the west, 
I was born, and the days of my childhood were blest. 
I would roam o'er the hills with the wild, restless deer, 
And I drank from the fountains so cold and so clear; 
And I oft bathed my hot, feverigh brow in the stream 
As it murmured and sighed like the voice of a dream. 
As I sat on its banks and communed with my God, 
Fancy marked out the path that I thought should be 

trod. 
Ah, it lead through a valley of beautiful flowers, 
One of pure, sparkling fountains, and cool, shady 

bowers. 



A dream's reality. 227 

I began to grow weary of wandering alone, 

And I longed for the love that I nev^er had known. 

Ah, I thought, if some loved one could dwell with 

me here, 
I should never know sorrow, and never feel fear; 
I would gather wild flowers and twine in her hair, 
And instead of alone, we should both kneel in prayer; 
And the God who had listened to my humble voice, 
"Would bestow choicest gifts on the girl of my choice. 
I would breathe in her ear words of tenderest love, 
And we'd live just as happy as angels above. 

Was it nought but a dream that can never come true ? 

Is there nothing in this life for I and for you, 

Save those vague, empty dreams that soon vanish and 

fade. 
Without leaving one mark where their fairy forms 

strayed ? 
Is a dream but a shadow that flits o'er the mind. 
Or is it a something that sometime we may And? 
Did it spring from the spirit, or float from above ? 
Is't a dreary-winged raven, or sweet white-winged 

dove? 
'Tis a shadow that flits through the halls of the soul, 
Pointing out to the spirit a fanciful goal. 

Were it true that the dreams of my spirit were true, 
Were those scenes in existence that burst on its view, 
I would not pause to weep o'er the pains of this life, 
Nor e'er lower my arm in the conflict of strife. 
I would gird on my armor and rush in the fight 
That has ever been raging between wrong and right. 
While the spirit of life in this weak frame did thrill, 
I would fight for my God, and would fight, too, to 

kill. 
When this life's sun did set, and the conflict was o'er. 
To the land of my dreams then] my spirit would soar. 



228 A dream's reality. 

Aye, and they are true. There's a land up above 
Where fond spirits are bound with the strong chains 

of love; 
Where the hopes of the soul do not vanish and fade, 
Where the fair forms will glow that in earth have de- 
cayed. 
There sweet lips will press lips in a fond, holy kiss, 
And lovers will roam through the valley of bliss. 
Nor the feverish soul cannot dream of the joy 
That shall dwell in the land where sin cannot alio}' ; 
For the sweet flowers of love that within the soul 

bloom. 
Can never be crushed in the dust of the tomb. 

They will bloom in the soul when the frame has de- 
cayed. 
In the garden of rest where this life's dreary ^shade. 
Will be changed into sunshine that clears mists away, 
Which have ever o'ershadowed mortality's day. 
While in this life the dark waves of sorrow may roll, 
But above them will yet shine the star of the soul. 
There's a flower that will bloom in the gloomiest night 
That was ever contrasted with pencils of light, 
And the sweet tears of grief only nourish that flower; 
They are to its germ both the sunshine and shower. 

'Twas my fancy created the form of my love. 
For that form is ne'er seen, save in bright worlds above. 
As I lay 'neath the shade, on my soft flowery bed. 
The soft, white, fleecy clouds that waved over my 

head. 
Seemed to half shade that form from my soul's eager 

gaze. 
Till my whole being glowed with the fire of love's 

blaze ; 
Every thought of my brain was a spark of that fire. 
Till to find one to love was my whole life's desire. 



A dream's reality. 229 

And my spirit did soar 'mid those clouds of the sky, 
But no voice ever answered my soul's longing cry. 

As I lay on its banks, in a soft, peaceful dream, 

I could see that fair form in the clear, crystal stream; 

And e'en in the darkest and stormiest night, 

The dear form of that loved one would float into sight. 

As I gazed on the stars, the bright stars were her eyes, 

And the winds that moaned by were her bosom's sad 

sighs; 
The soft dew-drops that fell on my feverish cheek 
Were the tears of my love, and of love they did 

speak. 
And the dear things of earth, and all bright things 

above, 
Would reflect the fair form of my angel — my love. 

O, Love, who has not seen thy shadowy form. 
As it floats in the sunshine, or rides on the storm ; 
As it steals in the chamber and kneels by the bed 
Of one who is weeping o'er joys that have fled; 
As it rides like white foam on the dark, dreary wave, 
And shines like a star o'er the deep, dismal grave. 
It is one of those forms that will ever shine bright. 
In the storm or the calm, in the day or the night. 
'Tis the life of the soul; 'tis the spirit of power. 
And it blooms in the soul as an immortal flower. 

As I lay on my bed in the forest alone, 
I would weep for the joys that I never had known. 
I admired and I loved all the works of my God, 
And I loved with devotion my dear, native sod. 
And the fair flag of freedom that waved o'er my head. 
Was as dear to my soul as my own forest bed. 
I had unfurled it there and it waved in the breeze. 
As the pure air of freedom would sigh through the 
trees. 



230 A dream's reality. 

And I felt that the angels of God hovered near 
The lone spot in the forest my soul held so dear. 

And all that I longed for was a maiden to love. 

I gazed on the fair earth and the heavens above, 

And my soul had believed that a God ruled on high, 

And that soul vs^as a being who never could die. 

In those woods, 'mong wild beasts, I had felt no alarm, 

For I thought that my Father would shield me from 

harm. 
When the thunders of heaven rolled over my head. 
And the lightnings would flash o'er my lone forest 

bed. 
When my spirit had breathed to my Father a prayer, 
Then I felt that no danger was lingering there. 

sweet, sweet, trusting faith of my childhood's bright 

days. 
That has taught me so much of my Great Father's 

ways, 
Had ye never have flown from this poor, aching breast, 
Doubt's demon could never have robbed me of rest. 
And I would not have wandered in dark, dreary night 
Where the sun of God's Spirit ne'er sheds forth its 

light ; 

1 would never have sailed on that dark, dismal sea. 
Where the spirit is tossed like the leaf of a tree; 
Where no bright star of hope ever shines o'er the 

wave 
That oft buries the soul in its cold, cheerless grave. 

vast, boundless ocean, and thy name is Despair ! 

1 have sailed on thy wave, and I know what is there. 
Waves of darkness as dense as thine own dreary wave 
Hover over thy bosom where dark spirits lave ! 
There I've seen fallen souls in a storm-shattered boat. 
Who once sailed on that sea where the angels do float; 



A dream's reality. 231 

I have heard cries of anguish float through the thick 

gloom 
That I never have heard as I stood by the tomb. 
May the God of my fathers forgive this weak soul 
For e'er daring to sail where those dreary waves roll. 

I have said that I longed for a maiden to love ; 

Well, I found one, as pure as the seraphs above. 

And her eyes were like stars, and her form was the 

same 
That I saw in the clouds when my heart was aflame. 
And the voice of the wind, as it gently passed by, 
JN^ever was half so sweet as my love's gentle sigh, 
And we did kneel in prayer as I dreamed we would 

kneel. 
And I felt all the joys that I dreamed I should feel. 
Nor I do not believe that the angels above 
Dwell more happy than I and my angel — my love. 

Men may talk ot the happiness that dwells with fame, 
And may wear out their lives for an immortal name; 
They may clasp to their bosoms their cold, shining 

gold. 
And may boast of the pleasures that its doors unfold; 
They may boast of the joys of a high, social life, 
Where there's so much confusion, and turmoil, and 

strife; 
They may boast of the greatness and glory of kings, 
And name o'er all the joys that have taken to wings; 
But give me a small cot near the cool, shady grove. 
And the heart and the soul of the maiden I love! 

It may be that true happiness dwells not on earth. 
That we feel no real joy from the day of our birth; 
But if I were not happy in those happy days, 
Then the tire of my soul was akin to joy's blaze. 
There two fond hearts were beating together as one. 
And I felt that my heaven on earth had begun. 



232 A dream's reality. 

Days seemed to be moments, and life seemed a sweet 

dream. 
And I felt in my heart that things were wiiat they 

seem. 
Even when I remembered my body must die, 
The voice of my spirit said, "Ah, yes, but not I! " 

And, the heart of that maiden was tender and true, 
And each day that we lived the sweet flower of love 

grew. 
Xor a selfish desire ever blasted the air 
That did nourish that flower so fragrant and fair ; 
But the sunshine of kindness and dew-drops of trust 
Had soon • withered the germs that oft tarnish with 

rust. 
Yes, my love often wept, but she wept tears of joy, 
For there dwelt nothing there that could harm or 

alloy. 
There two fond hearts were beating together as one; 
There two spirits were warmed by the rays of love's 

sun. 

And I built her a home near the cool, shady bowers. 
'Twas a cottage that stood in a garden of flowers. 
Yes, and close by the door flowed the clear, crystal 

stream 
That still murmured and sighed like the voice of a 

dream. 
But a voice still more sweet was the voice of the 

breeze. 
As it murmured and sighed through the ever-green 

trees. 
So there, 'mid those fair scenes that my youth loved 

so well, 
With the maiden I loved I did happily dwell. 
There t^vo fond hearts were beating together as one, 
And I felt that my heaven on earth had begun. 



A dream's reality. 233 

Ah, but who among mortals were ever so blessed 
That the griefs of their souls never robbed them of 

rest ? 
Ah, what man never saw his bright star of hope set, 
Nor has gazed on its fading with eyes that were wet ? 
Joys and sorrows are here, and they came here to stay, 
Till the smiles of our Father shall drive grief away; 
That will be when the soul has passed through the 

thick gloom 
That o'ershadows the vale of the cold, silent tomb; 
It will be when the spirit has proved to its God 
That 'tis willing to tread where the Savior has trod. 

I grew restless and sad, and would start from my 

sleep! 
With the cry of despair, from my couch I would leap, 
And would rush through the forest as tho' I were 

mad ! 
For the dreams of my spirit were dreadfully sad. 
And I near crushed to ashes the dear, tender heart, 
That in all that I felt claimed and shared its own part. 
I would rather have died than to cause that heart pain. 
But the spirit of dread o'er my feelings did reign ; 
And true love reads the heart of its loved one so well. 
That my love read the tale which my lips would not 
"tell. 

As I lay by her side in our lone forest bed — 
Ah, 'tis sad — but I dreamed that my darling was dead. 
Yes, I saw her white hands folded on her white breast, 
And the sweet, rosy lips that my lips oft had pressed, 
"Were like marble, as cold as the cold, lifeless clay 
In which all that fair beauty must moulder away. 
The bright stars that had guided my spirit aright. 
Had shed forth all their glory, and faded from sight. 
No, it cannot be strange that my heart throbbed with 

dread, ^ 

For I dreamed every night that my darling was dead. 



234 A dream's REALITt. 

'Twas a dream ! 'twas a dream ! yes, thank God, 'twas 

a dream ! 
The bright stars were still shining with love's divine 

beam. 
And her sweet lips were trembling again on my own. 
No, my love was not dead! I was not left alone! 
She is faithful and true; she would live many years; 
And the shade of a dream should not cause all these 

fears ; 
Now her sweet face is beaming with love's divine 

light, 
And the Death Angel's form had now vanished from 

sight. 
There two fond hearts were beating together as one; 
Two fond spirits were warmed by the rays of Love's 

sun. 

Now the life of the world is again rocked to sleep, 
And around our lone bed the tall trees vigil keep — 
See ! again that dark angel floats down from the sky — 
'Tis the Angel of Death! Some poor mortal must die. 
" 0, my Father !" I cried, " hear thy weak, humble 

child, 
Who has knelt to Thee often in this forest wild, 
I am willing to go ! I will give Thee my life ! 
But I cannot alone in the world face its strife. 
Let him blast not my flower with his poisonous breath; 
Save my love ! Save my love, from the Angel of Death," 

But the Angel of Death does not heed my wild cries; 
Like a demon he floats from the clear, starry skies. 
But see ! as he descends, his dark robes become white. 
And his face is aglow with the soft waves of light. 
Why, is this the angel who chills mortal breath ? — 
Yes, there glows on his forehead: "The Angel of 

Death ;" 
But his whole being shines like a «oft, silvery flame, — 



A dream's reality. 235 

It is well that they wrote on his forehead his name, 
For there's no one would guess one who caused so 

much pain 
Would be white, and wear robes that were free from 

all stain. 

See ! his white wings are fanning the breezes above! — 
Ah ! his bright eyes are shining like stars on my love! 
Now he gazes on me with a pitying eye ! 
Can it be! Can it be, that my loved one must die? 
No ! no ! not till this arm has been withered to dust ! 
For my soul dares to fight in a cause that is just! 
And before ye shall bear this dear, loved one away, 
Ye must crush out the life that now throbs in this 

clay ! 
These two souls are united, and never shall part! 
Till the last drop of blood has been drained from this 

heart! 

O Thou, God of my fathers ! now strengthen my arm ; 
For I promised Thee that I would shield her from 

harm. 
breathe in my spirit the breath of Thy power ! 
For I stand for the right in this terrible hour! 
A strong warrior appears, but my soul does not fear 
To meet him in battle with sword or with spear. 
We will tight 'neath that flag that now waves o'er 

yon tree; 
On the soil that the blood of Thy children made free, 
And if I must die, I shall not die a slave, 
For that banner of freedom will float o'er my grave. 

'Twas a dream ! 'twas a dream ! yes, thank God, 'twas 

a dream ! 
The bright stars were still shining with Love's divine 

beam. 
And her sweet lips were trembling again on my own. 



236 A dream's reality. 

1^0, my love was not dead ! I was not left alone. 
She is faithful and true; she would live many years; 
And the shade of a dream should not cause all these 

fears. 
Now her sweet face is beaming with Love's divine 

light, 
And the Death Angel's form has now vanished from 

sight. 
There two fond hearts were beating together as one; 
Two fond spirits were warmed by the rays of Love's 

sun. 

I had dreamed 'twas a dream, and with joy I awoke, 
As a soft, fleecy cloud floated o'er us like smoke. 
It paused for a moment, then swiftly passed by, 
As the cold, silvery moon-beams shot down from 

the sky ; 
Some clung for a moment to the leaves of the trees, 
And then laughingly sprang in the arms of the breeze. 
There were others at play on our soft, flow'ry bed. 
While a few kissed the leaves that were withered and 

dead. 
And I turned me to see if some were not at play. 
On the face that illumined my life's dreary day. 

Oh, merciful heavens ! they do wildly play 

On a face that's as cold as the cold, lifeless clay ; 

There's but one heart now beating, and that is my 

own. 
For that sweet bird of life from its fair cage has flown. 
Can it be ! can it be that my darling is dead ! 
my Father and God ! has her sweet spirit fled ! 
Will I never again hear that sweet, silvery voice. 
That so often has made this sad spirit rejoice? 
Will those stars ne'er more beam o'er my dark path 

of life? 
Art thou dead ! art thou dead !— free from all mortal 

strife. 



A dream's reality. 237 

O ye soft, silvery moon-beams, depart from that face ! 
Do not glow on the beauty the tomb must deface. 
Would to God that some shadow would darken the 

bloom 
That must wither and fade in the dust of the tomb ! 
Do not shine on those lips that are lifeless and cold. 
Which once trembled with love that can never be told; 
Do not glide o'er those hands that are spotless as 

snow, 
N'or illumine that breast which could heal all my woe. 
Oh, would some dreary cloud drive thy silvery light 
From the cage of that spirit that just took its flight. 

O, thou pale queen of night, never more will I dream 
On the banks where thy silver waves over the stream. 
I have loved with devotion thy soft, silvery light. 
As it glided along on the waves of the night. " 
But now, as it shines on the form that I love. 
The casket of the gem that now shines up above, 
My sad spirit doth wish that thy beams were as dark 
As the pencil of grief that now writes its deep mark 
On the page of a soul that is throbbing with pain, 
On a heart that once loved, but can ne'er love again. 

Ah, sweet dust art unconscious of my presence here ? 
Hast thou nothing to give for thy fond lover's tear? 
I would stop my heart's beating to catch the sweet sigh 
That erst dried the sad dews which would float in 

my eye. 
How canst thou be silent ? If 'twere I who were dead, 
Not in vain would thy sad tears of sorrow be shed. 
'Tis the first time thy dear, tender heart was e'er cold; 
'Tis the first time unkindness e'er dwelt in that mold ; 
'Tis the first time these lips ever met in a kiss, 
When they pressed without thrilling with raptures of 

bliss. 



238 A dream's reality. 

'Tis the first — 'tis the last time these eyes shall e'er 

gaze 
Oil thy beauty bereft of its life's wondrous blaze. 
'Tis the first time these eyes ever gazed on those stars 
When pure love did not shine through those dark, 

spiral bars. 
'Tis the first time this soul ever felt the thick gloom 
That rolls like a sea o'er the " vale of the tomb," 
'Tis the first time this heart ever sunk in despair; 
'Tis the first time this spirit e'er faltered in prayer. 
And the man never breathed who e'er saw this soul 

cower, 
But, alas ! 'tis now crushed like a poor, withered flower. 

I now stand on the brink of that dreadful abyss 

That divides this dark world from the bright world of 

bliss ; 
And the poor, aching heart which now throbs in my 

breast 
Has suffered so much that 'tis longing for rest. 
And ray soul is so wounded that its painful cry 
Has been borne on night's wings to the clear, starry 

sky, 
And 'twould only be one more weak mortal that's dead, 
If I slept by her side in this lone, forest bed; 
Two fond hearts would be frozen together as one. 
Both refusing to beat at the set of Love's sun. 

O, sweet faith of my childhood, come back to me now, 

And illumine the darkness that waves o'er Death's brow. 

Let but one silvery ray now illumine this soul, 

And the waves of my sorrow will then cease to roll. 

Tell me this ! Tell me this ! Will I meet her again ? 

Ah, if not, crush to atoms this spirit of pain ; 

Let this heart which now throbs with the passion of grief 

Burst and crumble to ashes, if 'twill bring relief. 

No, I would not express, but I cannot conceal — 

O, sweet Faith, is there nothing that thou canst reveal? 



A dream's reality. 230 

0, my Father and God, here before thee I kneel, 

With a pain that I cannot express nor conceal; 

Gaze, thou, into my soul with Thine all-searching eye, 

And bear witness that I do not breathe Thee a lie. 

I have never yet worshiped my life's wondrous breath, 

For I never have dreaded the angel of Death. 

If I had nothing harder to do than to die, 

]S"o murmur of mine should e'er float to the sky ; 

But the one that I loved more than life is now dead. 

And the dark clouds of sorrow wave over my head. 

O, my Father, forgive me if now I complain. 

For each pulse of my spirit is throbbing with pain; 

And the bright star of faith has gone out like a spark ; 

Fast toward a dark ocean is speeding my bark. 

And I know that the waves of destruction there flow, 

And that wild are the tempests which over it blow ; 

But the streams of my grief bears my bark to that sea, 

In spite of my efforts to pull towards Thee. 

I once had brilliant hopes, but my hopes are all o'er, 

For the eagle that's stricken can ne'er again soar. 

Hush, my spirit, O hush, — I must bury my dead — 
"Tis not strange that my dreams filled my spirit with 

dread. 
If I e'er dream again, I shall know that 'tis true — 
Dreams are warnings that tell men what they must pass 

through. 
I dreamed of a maiden as fair and as bright 
As that fair, lovely queen that rules over the night; 
And I dreamed that fair maiden loved no one but me, 
And all these things were just as I dreamed they 

would be. 
Then I dreamed that my loved one was taken away ; 
She has gone, and her beauty must fade and decay. 

There, where the wild flowers their vigil are keeping 
Under the shade of yon tall spreading tree, 



240 A dream's reality. 

She that I love is now quietly sleeping, 
While o'er her grave floats the flag of the free. 

When the soft rays from the cold moon were streaming, 
Waving their beams o'er that dark, lowly bed. 

When the world's life in Sleep's soft arms was dreaming, 
Sadly and lonely, I buried my dead; 

No funeral dirge, with its soft tones of sadness, 
Floated along on the cold, midnight air, 

Only one soul had been robbed of its gladness; 
Only one mourner now knelt there in prayer. 

Weak was the prayer, yet it floated to heaven, 
Or there was carried by angels of God, 

And to that prayer a sweet answer was given, 
E'en as I laid that dear form 'neath the sod. 

This was the answer : " The dead shall awaken. 
The great God of heaven shall burst every tomb ; 

Thou art His son, and thou art not forsaken ; 
Tarry not here in the valley of gloom." 

" Awaken those powers that within thee are sleeping ; 

Sorrow should not make God's children base slaves ; 
He can illumine the eyes that are weeping; 

He can bring forth withered forms from their graves. 

"Jesus, His Son, shall descend in His glory ; 

Kings shall be hurled from their bright thrones of 
power ; 
On future's page there is written a story, 

Read it, and watch for that terrible hour." 

Father, I thank Thee, my soul is immortal ; 

All will be well if to Thee I am true ; 
Thy flaming torch has illumined death's portal; — 

Come, doubt and fear, I now bid ye adieu. 

Father, this heart has been softened with sorrow. 
This haughty soul has been bowed to the dust; 



AN EVENING IN THE GROVE. 241 

Yet they dare hope for a brigher to-morrow ; 
Weak as they are, they have courage to trust. 

Yes, all is well, 'tis the day of salvation ; 
The dreams of the soul are its sunshine and dew; 
If we approach the great God of creation, 
He will convince us our best dreams are true. 
April, 1891. 



AN EVENING IN THE GROVE. 

^?,'AST the evening shades are falling, 

Soon night's queen o'er earth shall reign ; 
Weary birds their mates are calling, 
With a soft and sweet refrain. 

As the waves of day are flowing 

Far beyond a mortal's sight, 
And the heated world is growing 

Chilly with the breath of night, 

I the busy town am leaving, 

To enjoy the evening breeze. 
Where the forest elfs are weaving. 

Garlands 'neath the spreading trees. 

Not a spot on earth it dearer 

To my heart than that sweet grove ; 

While I'm there my mind seems clearer. 
And my soul is filled with love. 

God-like man I oft see reeling 

On the filthy, crowded street; 
Hear poor, starving souls appealing 

For a crust of bread to eat. 

Oft I see dark lines of sadness 
Written on the care-worn brow, 



142 AN EVENING IN THE GROVE. 

Where once glowed the marks of gladness- 
Lovers then, but haters now. 

I would soon grow tired of living, 

Did I never steal away 
From the joys the world is giving 

To the souls who in it stay. 

Faster still night's shades are falling, 
Evening's queen begins her reign ; 

Weary birds have ceased their calling. 
Wooed to rest by love's sweet strain. 

Ah, good night, thou noisy city. 

Keep thy artificial glare ; 
Every soal has this heart's pity 

Who is fretting in thy snare. 

Let me see the branches waving 

Where the moon-beams kiss the lake ; 

Let me see their shadows laving 
Where the rippling billows break. 

Take me where the waving flowers 
Droop beneath their weights of dew ; 

Where the fairies build their bowers, 
And I'll leave the town to you. 



Ah, my friends, you may boast of your concerts and 

dances, 
Where gather the noble, the brave and the fair ; 
Where the sweet tale of love is oft told by swift 

glances. 
And spirits are taught the first accents of prayer; 
You may sigh for the one who to-night has departed 
From pleasures that nothing could tempt you to 

leave; 
You may pity the one who is not so light-hearted, 
But waste not your sighs, he has no cause to grieve. 



AN EVENING IN THE GROVE. 243 

While the warm blood of health through these chan- 
nels is flowing, 
AV^hile reason shall have an abode in my brain, 
While the bright fire of hope in my spirit is glowing, 
And beauties of nature around me remain, 
Such things never shall be my soul's fountain of glad- 
ness, 
They never shall make of this spirit a slave; 
When without such amusements my soul droops in 

sadness, 
I ask not for life, but will long for the gave. 

If 'tis true that the spirit of man is immortal, 
Oh, why should it stoop to dominion of dust! 
Why should it not hastily rush through the portal 
That leads it from halls where its brightness doth rust. 
The best books of our God are His wondrous crea- 
tions. 
The humble and honest can soon learn to read ; 
x^or man can be taught in the schools of the nations? 
The truths nature teaches to those who will heed. 



Now, good-night, thou noisy city ; 

He may stay w^ho loves thy glare, 
But to me it seems a pity 

Men should have to breathe thy air. 



Behold, how the lanterns of heaven are gleaming ! 
iSee, how they illumine the realms of the sky! 
Ah, one has exploded ! its red flames are streaming 
Through darkness so dense that they vanish and die. 
But millions and millions are constantly burning; 
They still would exist, had we mortals no sight, 
jSTor man, standing high on the hills of his learning, 
Can blow out one lantern that hangs there to-night. 



244 AN EVENING IN THE GROVE. 

The truth is a star that is constantly shining; 

We see it not plain, but the fault's in our sight. 
There's not enough force in the worlds all combining, 

To darken one ray ot that star's fadeless light. 
When we strengthen our gaze, it to us will glow 
brighter, 

Until it will shine like the sun at noon-day. 
But it always shone thus, and 'twill never glow lighter, 

Because perfect brightness composes each ray. 

Hush, I will not longer tarry ; 

It is time I sped away. 
Wait for me, sweet forest fairy, 

I will join thee in thy play ; 

Or will watch thee in thy dances 

On sweet nature's carpet green. 
Where thine own and sister's glances 

Gleam along the shady sheen. 

Hush ! the evening bells are chiming, 
Calling Pride to Pleasure's halls ; 

But I hear a sweeter rhyming ; 
'Tis a spirit's voice that calls. 

Hush ! the voice within my spirit. 
Answers it, "I come — I come." 

Onward, upward, never fear it. 
Hasten to the fairies' home. 

See ! the brilliant lights are flashing 
Through the windows of the hall ; 

Carriages are onward dashing. 
Thousands answer Pleasure's call. 

Once I loved those senseless dances, — 

Then my spirit knew no care. 
I received love's sweetest glances 

From " the fairest of the fair." 



AN EVENING IN THE GROVE. 245 

I could tell a thrilling story 

Of a lady's constant love — 
Of a thirst for worldly glory — 

But 'tis written up above. 

Were it not in heaven recorded, 

I would tell it for her sake — 
Ah, her soul will be rewarded, 

When the dead shall all awake. 

Perfect love's a deathless passion, 

Not a flickering, fading flame. 
There's no soul in heaven's mansion 

Who dare scorn its sacred name. 

Ah, now the sweet tones of the music are gliding 

Along on the waves of the pure, balmy air. 
Unconscious of all that to earth is betiding, 

Are the dancers who glide along merrily there. 
" Be merry tonight, for there is no tomorrow : 

We live in the present; the past has all fled : 
It sold us some pleasure, and gave us much sorrow. 

But weep not for that which is withered and dead." 

The waves of those tones through my soul are vibrat- 
ing— 

The same dreamy waltz that was played on the night. 
When my spirit first felt Love's powers of creating 

A form that will never more vanish from sisrht. 
Death's white robes around that fair form are now 
clinging, 

But still to my soul she can never be dead. 
The tones of her voice in ray spirit are thrilling — 

]^ot far from my soul has her spirit e'er fled. 

The casket is cold, but the soul is immortal. 

The white frost of death can not kill that sweet flower; 
It passes unscathed through the dark, massive portal, 

Expanding, increasing in brightness and power. 



246 AN EVENING IN THE GROVfi. 

Like truth's beaming star it will shine on forever, 
And death's gleaming chains have been eaten with 

rust. 
The strongest that ever were forged are to sever, 
And forms shall arise from their beds in the dust. 



Hush ! the spirit's voice is calling. 

Asking why I linger here. 
When the waves of light are falling 

On the lake so smooth and clear. 

'Tis the music that is swelling 

From the hall of pleasure's throng 

That created all I'm telling, 
It has kept me here so long. 

But I must not linger longer. 

Though the strain is soft and sweet, 

There are still attachments stronger. 
In the fairies' lone retreat. 

Sweeter tones are ever thrilling 
Through the branches of the trees. 

Than the ones which now are filling 
Halls where swarm the pleasure bees. 

Guiding spirit, I am ready, 
Lead me to the lonely grove. 

Now my nerves are strong and steady, 
Guide me to the spot I love. 



Thank thee, invisible spirit, 
Far I have followed thy voice. 

God will reward all thy merit — 
This is the scene of my choice. 

Here majestic trees are waving 
O'er the lone, the lovely lake ; 



AN EVENING IN THE GROVE. 247 

While their spreadin^^ shades are laving 
Where the rippling billows break. 

See, the silvery moon-beams dancing 

In the foam of yonder wave ; 
While the darkling shades are prancing, 

Where the moon-beams never lave. 

Words are weak and humble creatures. 

When we gaze on nature's face. 
We may love her lovely features, 

But her beauty none can trace. 

Had my soul the gift of telling 
That which it has strength to feel. 

Waves of song would now be swelling 
From the bower where I kneel. 

That would reach the vale of heaven. 

And would be recorded there, 
As an offering man had given. 

Sweeter than an angel's prayer. 

Zephyrs through the leaves are sighing. 

Rippling wavelets gently break 
Where the cold, white rocks are lying 

On the borders of the lake. 

Waves of living light are streaming 

O'er the surface of the deep. 
JSTothing lives that is not dreaming 

In the soft, white arms of Sleep. 

Hush ! I must not break their slumbers 
With the harsh tones of my song. 

Spirit, let thy peaceful numbers 
Mbrate noiselessly along. 

Cares forgotten, life is sleeping; 

Everything that lives is blest; 
Eyes that all day long were weeping, 

Now are closed in peaceful rest. 



248 AN EVENING IN THE GROVE, 

Love has smoothed her soft, white pillow, 
Spread her lovely couch of flowers 

'oSTeath the stiade of some tall willow, 
Guarded by her raa^^ic powers. 

She in Sleep's soft arms is dreaming 
Dreams that fill her soul with joy. 

Sweetly dream, 'tis only seeming, 
But 'tis free from all alloy. 

Sleep, thou art the dearest blessing 
That to mortals finds its way; 

Who without thy sweet caressing 
Could remain in walls of clay ? 

Hush ! I would not break their slumbers, 
For they need this peaceful rest. 

Spirit, guard thy flowing numbers, 
Or retain them in thy breast. 

See, the moon-beams kiss the wave ! 

How the snow-white foam is sparkling ! 
See, the dreary shadows lave 

Where the waves of night hang darkling. 

See, with what unstudied grace 

Rises each advancing billow; 
As it joins the reckless race 

To the beach beneath the willow. 

Moon-beams, mixed with flakey foam, 
Each advancing wave is crowning ; 

Save where moon-beams never roam, 
Waves dash forward darkly frowning. 

There are flowers on the beach. 

In the broken billows laving; 
Others just beyond their reach. 

In the soft moonlight are waving. 

This side where those billows break. 
Grew sweet flowers my spirit cherished ; 



AN EVENING IN THE GROVE. 249 

But a storm swept o'er the lake, 

Waves swept o'er them, and they perished. 

I was sitting 'neath this tree 

When I saw them crushed and broken; 
Thoughts were struggling to get free. 

But the words could not be spoken. 

Hush ! forget that dreary storm — 

All around thee there is beauty. 
Fancy, shade that glowing form — 

Hast thou 80 forgot thy duty ? 

There are other flowers in bloom 

Where those angry waves were dashing ; 

As the light shines through the gloom, 
I can see them waving, flashing. 

How the silvery moon-beams cling 
To the drooping, snow-white petals, 

Till within each shining ring 

Seems to gleam a mine of metals ! 

With accelerated speed 

Each advancing wave is rushing — 
Ah, I fear that one on lead 

Will the tender flowers be crushing. 

Gently, gently flow this way, 

thou lovely, foam-capped billow; 
Be not boisterous in thy play 
With the flowers beneath the willow. 

Do not crush those tender flowers 

That like snow-white flags are waving — 

Ah, restrain thy latent powers. 
Pass not thine accustomed laving:. 

Ah, 'tis vain, 'tis vain, 'tis vain — 
It rolls onward fretting, dashing — 

Tender life feels keenest pain — 
All, upon the beach 'tis crashing! 

17 



250 AN EVENING IN THE GROVE. 

See, the gleaming flakes of foam 

O'er the cold, white rocks are leaping- 

Have the^flowers a spirit's home ? 
O, my soul, why art thou weeping? 

'Tis not so ! they are not dead ! 

Fast the billow is retreating 
Back into its liquid bed ; 

On the coast another's beating. 

But the flowers were not slain — 
'Twas my fancy moved the billow ; 

Speed created in the brain 

Through a fast receding pillow. 

Ah, it must be getting late, 

For the flowers are lowly drooping] 

'Neath the overpowering weight 
Of the dew-drops in their grouping. 

Can it be I am awake? 

Is this fancy? Am I dreaming? 
Here's the grove and there's the lake — 

Ah, 'tis something more than seeming. 

See! the stars begin to fade ; 

Light appears, the day is breaking. 
I must leave this lovely shade. 

For the world will soon be waking. 

O, thou sweet and lovely queen, 
I do thank thee for thy glowing; 

Kaught would be this shady sheen 
Without what thou art bestowing. 

Duty calls me to the world, 

And my smiles must meet its coldness. 
Truth's eternal flag's unfurled, 

And it waves o'er men of boldness. 



AN EVENING IN THE GROVE. 251 

Coward-like I must not shrink 

From the dangers of the battle. 
Man must fight as well as think, 

Till war's drum shall cease to rattle. 

See! the silvery streaks of day 
Steal along to give the warning — 

Queen, thou dare not disobey 

He who takes thy place each morning. 

See, the sable clouds of smoke 

From the tall, white chimneys curling. 

Busy life has now awoke, 

And will soon be madly whirling. 

Now the day's anointed king 

To yon summit fast is speeding. 
Shades of night have ta'en to wing, 

Darker ones the lighter leading. 

On the lofty summits bold 

Floods of living light are blazing. 

Till they gleam like crowns of gold. 
Withering every power of gazing. 

On the lofty mountain peak 

Now the king of day is standing. 
God gave him no power to speak, 

But his silence is commanding. 

Fiery shafts of living light, 

He o'er all the world is hurling; 
Dampness of the chilly night. 

From the earth in clouds is curling. 

Ah, I cannot — dare not stay. 

But must close my eyes to beauty. 

There's a voice that calls away, 
'Tis the stern, cold voice of duty. 



252 A christian's pilgrimage. 

Busy life begins its toil, 

I can hear its well-known humming. 
I must rush in its turmoil — 

Cease awhile — yes. I am coming. 

Fare thee well my native grove, 
For I cannot linger longer. 

Do not doubt thy lover's love — 
I feel better, braver, stronger. 

Fare thee well, 0. fare thee well! 

TThen the evening shades are falling 
I shall come — was that a bell? — 

'Tis my duty that is calling. 
September, 1891. 



A CHEISTIAX'S PILGRIMAGE. 

Canto the First. 

t LITTLE thought when first I heard the truth 

^ That it would bid me leave this dear, old home : 

To tear myself away from scenes of youth, 

And in a stranger's land to sadly roam. 

But soon the hour of parting will have come, 

When I must say farewell to scenes I love, 

And mount yon wave that gleams with flakey foam, 

"Without a guide, save that sweet, white-winged dove. 

Which is to broken hearts a token of God's love. 

The truth has come to me. it matters not 
How, when or why, 'tis burning in my soul. 
I must have heard it once, and then forgot 
That I had started for a shining goal ; 
For when I heard it I lost all control 
Of every power, save that to doubly feel. 
There was a something that within me stole — 



A christian's pilgrimage. 253 

A power it is — whatever it may be, 

That my soul must have felt when it from sin was free- 

I oft had wondered if we did not live 

In worlds more fair, before we here were born ; 

If when we left we did not freely give 

A promise that we some day would return ; 

And did not those we love still watch and yearn 

To greet us on a bright, celestial shore ; 

Where fires of love would never cease to burn; 

Where those who met would part again no more, 

And all would dwell in peace till endless life was o'er? 

It might have been a dream ; I used to dream 

When I was set to watch my father's sheep. 

In that dear vale, beside the crystal stream, 

I oft have dreamed — aye, and my dreams were deep. 

I oft have dreamed when I was not asleep, 

Of life, of death, of Satan and of God; 

And, kneeling there, I oft would pray and weep, 

Because all paths of life that mortals trod 

Converge in one that leads beneath the dreary sod. 

My life was saddened by my loved one's death, 
Although we were but children when she died. 
'Tis strange, but as she breathed life's final breath. 
She smiled and said she yet would be my bride. 
But oh, how dark, and drear, and deep, and wide 
Has seemed that gulf o'er which her spirit crossed. 
I groped in darkness, for I had no guide; 
My soul upon life's stormy sea was tossed. 
Because my lovely flower was killed by death's cold 
frost. 

I yet shall be thy bride! What did it mean ? 
It was no dream; those were the words she said. 
If she had lived, I know she would have been; 
But can the living marry with the dead? 
Ah, reader, do not shrink from this in dread; 



254 A christian's pilgrimage. 

That question forced itself upon my mind, 
And, through it, I have often-times been led 
To heights of thought that joy can never find ; 
And I have come to think that grief is sometimes 
kind. 

In time my star of hope began to shine 

Across the boundless ocean of Despair. 

The lovely girl was dead, but she was mine — 

The thought was bold, but grief had made me dare 

To think of things which erst I could not bear 

To e'en see standing at the dcor of thought. 

My grief has trained me with such skill and care 

That, tho' she came to me a friend unsought, 

I love her for the truths that she to me has taught. 

The truth — the truth has come to me at last. 

I see my way; I know what I must do. 

The clouds of hate have gathered round me fast; 

But to myself and God I will be true. 

I once had many friends, but now the few 

That have been left, I do not feel to trust; 

For those I thought the best I ever knew 

Have trampled on me as if I were dust — 

I rest my case with Him whose ways are ever just. 

I yet shall be thy bride — those few short words 

Were written on my soul with pen of fire. 

It is the song sung by the forest birds; 

In dreams I've heard it, by a heavenly choir; 

And now my being thrills with oi>e desire. 

To know if this is fancy or is real. 

If it were true, this soul would never tire 

Of marching onward, and my wounds would heal; 

And I would thank my God for every pang I feel. 

Immortal spirit ! where, oh, where art thou ? 
Thy lover mourns for thee — he loves thee still. 
Here, where we used to roam, in grief I bow. 



A christian's pilgrimage. 255 

And thoughts too deep for words my being thrill. 

They overpower the forces of my will, 

And oft conduct me where I dread to go, 

Kow through a vale, now on a towering hill, 

So high — I tremble as I gaze below — 

But I must be more calm, and live by what I know. 

Sweet maiden, thou art safe — why should I mourn? 

Death came to thee; it comes unto us all. 

The life we lived before we here were born 

Will give a reason for Death Angel's call. 

I must stand on known truth, or I shall fall. 

'Tis true, the soul of man can never die; 

Death is a gate-way, not an iron wall. 

And some time I shall know the reason why 

I have the power to move, but not the power to fly. 

My thoughts must not take quite so broad a range; 
They must not wander o'er forbidden ground. 
Those things that are mysterious and strange 
Are natural when the reasons have been found. 
This earth, although it seems a little mound — 
A grain of sand that dashes on through space. 
Has many secrets in its circles bound. 
But thinking will not change its form nor place; 
Nor can all truth be known by this the human race. 

Years have rolled on since that sweet maiden died. 

The flower of love bloomed once more in my breast. 

The chasm 'tween us seemed so dark and wide, 

That, on this side the gulf, I sought for rest. 

To her I love I have not yet confessed — 

But she must come with me or we must part. 

For in ten days I turn toward the west, 

Although to leave these scenes 'most breaks my heart. 

The truth has come to me, and I must make a start. 

Ye who have heard the truth in foreign lands. 
Know what this would-be Christian had to face. 



256 A christian's pilgrimage. 

It often bursts afiection's strongest bands 

But to receive the gospel's promised grace. 

'Tie strange that love for truth should bring disgrace, 

And bitter hate of warm and oft-tried friends, 

But this is proven true in every place 

"Where truth has found its way; he who defends. 

Its cause must stand and face all that which Satan 

sends. 
When ten days pass I turn toward the west; 
My childhood's home I then must bid farewell. 
In that far land I hope to find sweet rest, 
For there 'tis said the Saints of God do dwell. 
Zion, the pure in heart, I love thee well ! 
O, ocean, cast me not beneath thy wave, 
But bear me on thy breast to that fair dell 
Where Faith stands on each loved one's silent grave, 
And points to that sweet home where dwell the good 

and brave. 

I long to mingle with a class ot men 
Who gaze beyond the " city of the dead;" 
Who seek beyond the shades of mortal ken 
For light by which their mortal feet may tread. 
Who do not gaze upon the earth with dread, 
And say: "Why, surely this is mankind's womb !" 
But feel the light that Faith's bright star has shed. 
And look beyond the "valley of the tomb" 
To a celestial vale where flowers eternal bloom. 

Can storms of hate put out the brilliant flame 

That burns in souls who have this living trust ? 

Or can the waves of time efface the name 

That's written where there's no corroding rust ? 

What can the wicked do to harm the just. 

Who stand as servants of the living God ? 

They are as powerless as the clods of dust; 

Write on their unfurled banners "Ichabod," — 

They're treading in the path that e'en the angels trod. 



A christian's pilgrimage. 257 

I cannot be a Christian in a day, 

But be my help, God, and I will try 

With all my powers to drive my sins away, 

And fight for Thy great cause until I die. 

'Tis sweet to know that man came from the sky ; 

I used to think he was formed out of clay, 

But now I feel my soul has power to fly 

Beyond all things that time can fade away. 

To a celestial home where glows eternal day. 

A Christian ? Can I ever hope to be ? 

My heart leaps forth at such a glorious thought. 

I care not for the storms upon life's sea, 

If out of them eternal life is wrought. 

The battle may be fierce, but when 'tis fought 

A crown of glory that will never fade 

Is man's reward, for so the Savior taught. 

That is a sun illuming all lifers shade ; 

Dispelling all the gloom that doubt and fear have made. 

I now begin my pilgrimage of life ; 
Keep me, God, within the narrow way; 
Give me the strength to face all storms of strife. 
Though they beat down these walls of mortal clay ; 
Grant that I may not fear my frame's decay, 
But that Thy Spirit's light may be my guide : 
And that my soul may follow safe that ray — 
Though all the world my course of life deride, 
Until I reach that home where those I love reside. 

I know this world can never take away 

The happiness that dwells with righteous deeds. 

ISTor can it kill the power which eats away 

The soul that cultivates sin's poisonous seeds. 

'Tis true the heart that's tender often bleeds. 

E'en though it be as pure as falling snow ; 

But God will heal such wounds; He knows our needs. 

And though all men must sufier here below. 

The righteous do have joys the wicked cannot know. 



258 A christian's pilgrimage 

I am a Christian, and a Christian's hope 
Must glow within my bosom or I fall. 
The light that came from God must have full scope, 
And it tells me I must do good to all. 
I dread to think of that high, gloomy wall 
That separates me from the ones I love, 
But I must listen to my duty's call, 
And try to break it down, that the white dove 
May bid them with me march to a bright home 
above. 

Yes, I must seek my father and explain. 
His bitter curse must not rest on my head ; 
He must not burst forever that strong chain 
Which ought to bind the living and the dead. 
But, then, to see him fills my soul with dread — 
Will he not spurn me from him as before? 
And all those cruel words that he has said 
Will be repeated, and a thousand more. 
I shudder at the thought of entering at his door. 

I am a Christian — here my faith is tried; 

I must believe that they this time will hear 

The story that before I could not hide, 

And hence I told it to the ones most dear. 

But how they stormed and cursed ! It is not clear 

To my weak mind why they became so wild. 

It seemed as though the one they loved so dear, 

Their petted and, it may be, wayward child. 

Had bathed in floods of sin till he became defiled. 

Well, I shall seek that home they bid me leave; 
I, being a Christian, must seek it once more, 
And, with the help of God, I will believe 
That they will not receive me as before — 
But, oh, it cuts me to the very core 
To think that they should treat me as a slave, 
And turn me like a beggar from their door 



A christian's pilgrimage. 259 

Because my guilty soul did dare to crave 

Those jewels that will wear beyond the silent grave. 

With these contending thoughts, the Christian turned 

And strode away toward his father's cot. 

He it had left when fiery anger burned 

Within his breast, because his parents sought 

To make him scorn the change that had been wrought 

Within his soul, as though it were a dream. 

He knew 'twas true ; with all his power he fought 

Against the fire of rage, but still its gleam 

Burst from his fiashing eyes, e'en like a meteor's beam. 

He had grown wild among his native hills; 

His petulance had never been controlled ; 

But he had mused beside the sparkling rills. 

And dreamed of things that he had never told. 

He knew that time would some day make him old. 

And he would ask his soul why this was so; 

Why his warm blood would soon be icy cold; 

And if he had a soul, where would it go? 

Was there a heaven above? Was there a hell below? 

He heard the Gospel in its plainness taught. 
By one who was uncouth and rude of speech; 
But ever}^ word with eagerness he caught. 
And soon he saw salvation was in reach. 
He knew that he was standing on the beach 
Of life's great ocean, and why there he came 
Vf as — when he heard that humble Elder preach — 
As plain and clear as was his mortal name, 
For in his soul he felt the Holy Spirit's flame. 

A CHRISTIANVS PILGRIMAGE. 

Canto the Second. 

My hopes that they would hear me were all vain. 
I cannot and I will not see them more. 
They say I leave a stain upon their name 



260 A christian's pilgrimage. 

That is as crimson as is human gore. 

But I feel better than I did before — 

My duty was to strictly play my part; 

This have I done, and now my task is o'er, 

They shall not break my sorely wounded heart; 

In God I put my trust, and He will heal its smart. 

I know now what it is to be alone. 

I am cut loose from all my kindred ties — 

I fear my parents ne'er again will own 

The child whose very name they now despise. 

But there's a God who hears His children's cries. 

And answers them in tender words of love. 

I am an outcast, but I yet shall rise — 

If I am true, to starry heavens above; 

That is my spirit's home — a land of perfect love. 

Ye forests, I shall rest beneath your shade 

Until the morning comes when I shall sail. 

Upon the cold, damp ground I oft have lain 

And listened to thy branches sigh and wail. 

Ye scenes of youth! with gushing joy I hail — 

Ye are the only friends that now remain. 

And ye, dear friends, I know will never fail, 

ISFor will reproach me with the crimson stain 

That I have left on those who caused me so much pain. 

Yet, mother dear, I shall not quench the love 
That burns within my tremblimg soul for thee. 
There's not a friend below God's Throne above 
That e'er shall be as dear as thou to me. 
Where'er my bark is tossed upon life's sea, 
Thy smile shall beam upon the dark, cold wave. 
Beneath thy roof I ne'er again shall be, 
But, in that home beyond the silent grave, 
I hope to claim that love which here in vain I crave. 

My mother oft has knelt beside my bed. 
When I lay fretful with some childish pain; 



A christian's pilgrimage. 261 

And tender words of love to me were said, 

While tears fell on my cheek like showers of rain. 

And when my pain had left me, and again 

I felt the joy that follows childish grief. 

She clasped me with a pure, paternal strain, 

And in her arms I soon found sweet relief — 

Thus all my childhood's ills were by her love made brief. 

I never felt a wound she could not heal ; 
I never knew a joy she did not share; 
But now my grief I here alone must feel ; 
In silent gloom my sufferings I must bear. 
There is no one in all this world would care. 
Were I to fall asleep and never wake — 
But I shall strive to shun the tempter's snare, 
And live and labor for my mother's sake, 
Unless the God of heaven sees fit my life to take. 

My mother loved the child she nursed with care; 
It seems so strange her love is dead and cold, 
I wonder if she ever breathes a prayer 
For the lost sheep. that's wandered from the fold, 
I wonder if the child that she has told 
To leave her home and never enter more. 
Has left her heart! or does she sometimes mould 
My faults into the innocence of yore? 
Ah, well, whate'er she thinks, thank God that scene 
is o'er. 

A father's curse is resting on my head; 
A mother's scorn has pierced me to the heart; 
A sister's love is withered and is dead; 
But still I feel a deadlier, poisoned dart. 
0, Love ! I know thou art not what thou art, 
Or thou could'st never be so warm and cold. 
Thou hast a balm to heal the keenest smart, 
But all thy wounding power has ne'er been told. 
And never will be known while graves their secrets 
hold. 



262 A christian's pilgrimage. 

A father's curse should never bow this frame ; 

For mother's scorn these eyes should never weep ; 

A sister's hate my soul should never tame — 

These sorrows in my bosom I would keep. 

But, Love ! thy dart has pierced my heart so deep ; 

I can not keep within the pain I feel ; 

When worn out with my grief, I fall asleep. 

Thy lovely form will in my chamber steal, 

And kneeling, by my couch, I hear thy eweet appeal. 

Yes, oft I feel thy warm breath on my cheek. 
And feel thy sweet lips tremble on m}^ own ; 
While those sweet words that only love can speak. 
Oft make me feel that all my grief has flown. 
But when I wake and find I am alone. 
And think of all her cruel words of scorn; 
How her sweet face with cruel anger shone 
When we walked in the woods that sunny morn. 
And I dared breathe a hint of why we had been born. 

But who and what am I that I should weep ? 

Do I deserve this cruel, cutting hate 

Because I would not crouch beneath their feet, 

And humbly on their foolish counsel wait? 

My crime is that I sought the only gate 

By which a soul can find eternal life ; 

And that one act has sealed my mortal fate, 

Robbed me of father, mother, sister, wife. 

And I am forced to meet this calumny and strife. 

Why should I mourn ? I oft have longed to find 

That which, now found, has made my spirit sad. 

I know the truth is burning in my mind. 

For thoughts like these I ne'er before have had — 

But, then, it almost drives me raving mad 

To think that father, mother, sister, all 

Should scorn me as a being vile and bad 

Because, forsooth, I listened to that call. 

And drew back from the gulf in which I dared not fall. 



A christian's pilgrimage. 263 

Be Thou my judge, O God ! have I not sought 

For gems of truth in these my native hills ? 

Have I not in my gloomy moments thought 

That 'twould be sweet to breathe the breath that kills ? 

And now when I have found a light that fills 

My being with a knowledge of my birth, 

That tells me trials are essential drills 

To prove the spirit if it be of worth, 

Because these things are true I am too vile for earth. 

I wonder if the Elder I heard preach 
Knew what a power there was in what he taught? 
He said he was too ignorant to teach, 
That he had never 2:1 ven his mind to thouo-ht. 
Good heavens ! Did he know that men had sought 
For centuries to find what he had found? 
That out of his short sermon could be wrought 
More riches than are hidden in the ground ; 
More truth than all the lines of this our earth can 
bound ? 

No, no, the Elder knew not what he said. 

At first he seemed to think that he was wrong. 

He looked as though his soul was filled with dread. 

When he arose to speak to that vast throng. 

Before this, when he tried to sing a song, 

He looked as though he wished he had one friend, 

But still he sang, and though the song was long, 

I paid attention till he reached the end, 

For earnestness and power did on his words attend. 

The man was awkward, bashful, full of shame; 
Nor art nor science e'er had taught him grace. 
Who would have dreamed that in him was a flame 
• That could all these exterior faults deface ! 
As he spoke on, a glow illumed his face, 
Until it shone with a celestial light; 
And I was given a power that I could trace 



264 A christian's pilgrimage. 

His lines of thought — there stood before mj sight 

A medium God had sent to show me what was right. 

I never knew the power of truth till then ; 
Kor did I know that weakness made men strong; 
Tho' I had read of Daniel in the den, 
And always thought that right would conquer wrong; 
But I had waited patiently and long 
To see and hear a soldier of the cross ; 
Or one who to that army did belong 
That measure earthly gain by heavenly loss, — 
One who could separate true gold from garnished 
dross. 

These woods must be my home until I sail ; 

I'll gather withered leaves a*nd make my bed, 

And while the lonesome wind doth moan and wail. 

My soul shall dream of what that Elder said — 

Why, Jesus had no place to lay his head ! 

Thank God ! — T never thought of that before. 

The Great Redeemer who for mankind bled 

That He might open for them heaven's door ! 

Oh, can this all be true, — I shall not murmur morel ' 

I thank thee father even for thy curse ; 

I now know why you drove me from your door. 

And, mother, thy unkindness hurt me worse, 

But I shall thank thee for it evermore. 

And, thou, my love, I still do thee adore, 

But thy unkindness cheers my drooping soul; 

For now I see, more clearly than before. 

That this path leads unto a shining goal. 

Where all the just shall dwell while ages onward roll. 

Yes, Jesus had no place to lay his head, 

Though He was the begotten Son of God; 

Upon the cold, damp earth He made His bed, 

And patiently a humble path He trod. 

He showed men how to grasp the " iron rod," 

And taught them that the greatest should be meek; 



A christian's pilgrimage. 265 

That earthly glory sinks beneath the sod, 
But that He had been given power to speak 
Of glory that would last, and wealth that all should 
seek. 

The Jews were hypocrites, and would not hear 
These truths; they were too lofty and sublime; 
They dared not look within, where guilty Fear 
Sat trembling in the crimson arms of Crime. 
If He had covered up their filthy slime. 
And poured into their ears soft, flattering lies, 
He would have been the greatest of His time. 
And never would have heard their mocking cries, — 
They dared not — could not gaze upon the glorious 
prize. 

There are weak mortals who are climbing high ; 
They love the Savior, and what He did teach ; 
Their beaming eyes are turned toward the sky. 
And lofty are the summits that they reach. 
But far beyond the ideal peaks of each. 
The Savior, clothed in robes of dazzling white. 
Stands on a mount, a lofty mount, to preach. 
And men do well if they can keep in sight 
Of that majestic God, the Prince of living light. 

When He was nailed upon the cruel cross. 
He won a victory over death and hell. 
It was a gain, although a seeming loss. 
When He into the hands of murderers fell. 
And e'en today can human wisdom tell 
What is a loss, or that which is a gain ? 
He who is slain on earth in heaven may dwell ; 
He who now stoops to serve may shortly reign, 
And hearts now filled with joy may soon be crushed 
with pain. 

18 



266 A christian's pilgrimage. 

But he who serves his God can never fail ; 
He is a conqueror, for he always tries 
To do the right, but lets the Master choose 
What shall be done, then all the world deiies. 
If he be crushed to earth, he knows he'll rise ; 
If he be bound, he knows the bands will burst. 
Things may look dark at times, but God is wise ; 
He knows this, and remembers from the first 
That God has made him strong when demons howled 
the worst. 

'Tis this that gives the weakest Christian strength. 
The prince of darkness longs to overthrow 
Faith's mountain chain, which is of such a length 
That it binds starry heavens with earth below. 
He trembles when he sees that mountain grow. 
For those who grade it are beyond his reach. 
Hence this fair world, with all its gaudy show. 
He otfers men, if they'll engage to teach 
That God can never hear, nor answer human speech. 

\ 
A God has died that man may never die; 

He came to earth that He might pave the way 

That leads to starry mansions in the sky. 

Beyond this mortal empire of decay. 

How weak is man! Yet, through God's grace, he 

may 
Tread weakness down, and rise in strength and power. 
Until he feels his own soul is a ray 
Before which the prince of night must cower; 
This is a gift of God, and is the Christian's dower. 

God is the Christian's strength, and is he weak? 
Tho' scorching flames consume his mortal frame. 
And hush the voice that God commands to speak. 
He knows the angels write a martyr's name. 
If he can feel his soul is free from blame. 
That soul will smile, when pain would bid it cry. 



A christian's pilgrimage. 267 

None but the guilty hang their heads in shame! 

The pure in heart are not afraid to die ; 

They gaze not at the earth, but at the clear, blue sky. 

This is the Christian, and as years roll by, 

I dare to; hope that I may bear that name, 

I tremble at the thought, but that is why 

I dare to hope, for others feel the same. 

When first I felt that none were free from blame, 

I felt a joy that I could not conceal. 

That joy it was that lit a hopeful flame. 

And to my better self I did appeal; 

And ever since that time, I've felt that life was real. 

Before that time, I oft have longed to die. 

I could not sleep, nor could I rest awake. 

I found no answer to the question why 

Are hopes and fears like bubbles that must break. 

I had a thirst that waters could not slake; 

I felt a wound that kindness could not heal, 

And every effort that my soul did make 

Would strengthen pain; until I came to feel 

That life, and death, and all were gloomy and unreal. 

The gloom of life sank deep into my soul. 
And planted there the seeds of scorn and hate; 
But still my passions strong I did control ; 
Still struggled in the iron arms of Fate. 
I knew this fearful storm must soon abate. 
That dreary gloom must give way to the light; 
And thus in this condition I did wait 
Until I saw the lines 'tween wrong and right. 
And then I armed myself and fought with all my 
might. 

And here I stand among these forest trees. 

As midnight winds are rustling through their leaves. 

If God looks down upon me. He now sees 



268 A christian's pilgrimage. 

One who in His Almighty name believes. 

And for this dreadful crime, he who deceives, 

And ever has deceived the souls of men. 

Has taught my friends that they are worse than 

thieves. 
Who dare believe that God has spoke again, 
Or that He is the same that He has always been. 

O, Thou who died upon the cruel cross, 

I lay my bosom bare before Thy gaze. 

If there be gold beneath this mass of dross 

It will not wither 'neath thy vision's blaze. 

I come — I come to Thee to learn Thy ways ; 

I wish to be among thy chosen flock. 

Before this frame in mother earth decays 

0, plant my feet upon Thy Gospel's rock ! 

Then I will face life's storm, nor tremble at its shock. 

O, Thou, my God, the Father of my soul. 
Forgive — forgive Thy broken-hearted child ! \ 

Give me the strength this being to control, 
That I may stand before Thee undefiled. 
Among these scenes my spirit has run wild — 
I knew not Thee, nor why I came to earth ; 
But now I see that I have been beguiled 
In seeking that which cannot be of worth — 
My soul now comprehends the cause of mortal birth- 
Behold this soul bowed down with care and grief ; 
Untaught of Thee, untrained in any school, 
Xow full of hope, now chained in unbelief; 
In some things wise, in others worse than fool; 
Believiug man no better than a ghoul. 
Destined to shine a moment then to fade ; 
With all his pride, a weak and worthless tool 
That did exist, but never had been made — 
I trusted to my doubts, by them I was betrayed. 



A christian's pilgrimage. 269 

Will tears of true repentence wash away 
The crimson mark that stains my guilty spirit? 
Is there a hope for those who disobey ? 
Or can a sinner endless life inherit? 
My God ! I must receive more than I merit, 
Or this weak soul can never be unbound. 
The white robe of forgiveness ! may I wear it ? 
0, let Thy love within my soul abound, 
And I will show the world the prize that I have 
found. 

Behold these tears ! they sprang not from my eyes, 

But from a broken, over-flowing heart. 

O, listen. Father, to my spirit's cries! 

Remove from my poor soul sin's poisonous dart! 

Show me Thy wondrous play; give me a part! 

I'll play it well, or do my very best. 

I wish to learn, above all things, the art 

Of living so my life won't be a jest. 

I do think I can stand; I do not fear the test." 

Yes, I do know that I shall be forgiven. 
'Twas not in vain our Lord and Savior bled. 
If only blameless spirits went to heaven, 
Then I would ne'er again lift up my head; 
But every mortal being has been wed 
To him who has the power to make men slaves. 
Yet Mercy has her white wings kindly spread 
O'er all the world ; the flag of hope still waves. 
And Faith's bright, fadeless star illumes our loved 
ones' graves. 

I know too well the strength of boiling blood ; 

It leaps in pride and anger o'er the will. 

What man e'er lived who did the things he would ? 

He strives and hopes, but he's a sinner still. 

I've read of those who sought to do God's will. 

But no man ever did it in all things. 



270 A christian's pilgrimage. 

Anon the strength of weakness sends a thrill 
Through every being; common men and kings 
Are much alike in this — we mortals have no wings. 

King Solomon, King David — they were great. 

God taught them, blessed them, made them brave and 

strong. 
They entered at the straight and narrow gate. 
And served their God both patiently and long — 
But, hush, their actions mar the Pilgrim's song — 
I never can unknow that man is weak. 
E'en those who love the right oft do the wrong; 
What can be said of those who never seek 
To do the will of God, nor of His love to speak ! 

To Thee, my God, my Father, now I lift 
My hands, my heart, my soul, my hopes, my all, 
"And crave of Thee, Almighty God, a gift:" 
I wish to stand, though angels round me fall. 
Thy Spirit spoke to me, I heard its call, \ 

But others hear and feel as I do now. 
Yet cannot say as did the faithful Paul, 
I've kept the faith, no shame is on my brow. 
Through all the storms of life I've kept my sacred 
vow. 

Though all the world arose against me now, 
I feel I have the strength to bravely stand; 
But, oh, I dare not breathe to Thee a vow 
That I can always this, myself, command. 
The chosen are a very little band; 
The called are many — nothing here is wrong. 
God grasps each son and daughter by the hand; 
Invites the world with all its busy throng. 
But faith and works combined, alone can make men 
strong. 

My home, my friends, these scenes I love so well; 
Oh, what are they ! I bid them all adieu. 



A christian's pilgrimage. 271 

Among the Saints of God I soon shall dwell- 
All will be well, if I can but be true ; 
And this is not impossible to do. 
T can be faithful ! no, I need not fall. 
Why should I not be with the chosen few? 
What one can do, can be done by us all— 
I'll always hush my heart to hear my duty's call. 

Communion with my God is what I need. 

I have no want that He cannot supply. 

To everything He says I will give heed ; 

I know he will assist those who thus try. 

Few men have come to Him as weak as I, 

But He can make the weakest brave and strong. 

I only wish the strength that can defy 

Whatever lives that has the name of wrong; 

I must have this much strength, or I shall fall ere 

long. 
Oh, would that since my birth no evil thought 
Had ever throbbed within my feverish brain ; 
But that my rising soul in youth had sought 
That which it now is yearning to obtain. 
Against this mortal life I did complain, 
But never, never will I do so more. 
Purge from my soul sin's dark, corroding stain. 
And I shall learn Thy Gospel to adore, ^ 

And gladly leave this world when mortal toil is o er. 

The future— ah, the future— Thank my God 

There is a future, all has not yet past. 

My manhood's strength now droops upon this sod. 

While gushing streams of joy are flowing fast. 

I know there are things time can never blast: 

Truth is immortal ! Spirit cannot die ! 

The sky may be with darkness overcast, 

But there's a glowing sun in yonder sky. 

Its brightness cannot fade; the clouds will soon roll by. 



272 A christian's pilgrimage. 

The clouds, the dreary clouds — why should I mourn 

Because they float above my mortal head ? 

The night is followed by the breaking morn ; 

To know this is to free the soul from dread. 

The brightest beams the sun has ever shed 

Have fallen where there once was dreary gloom ; 

The darkest shade has always quickly fled 

When light appeared, because light leaves no room 

For waves of night to roll this side creation's tomb. 

E'en so it is whene'er the Gospel's sun 

Has shed his golden rays within the soul ; 

The darkness fleeth and the flght is won. 

If man will learn his passions to control. 

No mortal man has gazed upon the goal 

That is illumined by the Gospel blaze, 

Until the light within his being stole, 

Then beauty, grandeur, greatness meet his gaze — 

This sight is never seen by him who disobeys. \ 

I cannot now, I never can forget 

That I have sinned before the Lord my God ; 

And while I live on earth I shall regret 

That when a child I knew not where to trod. 

Indeed, when 3'oung, I thought all things were odd, 

And God alone can know what I have felt. 

To see the ones I loved laid 'ueath the sod 

And not know where they went, would not that melt 

A heart of adamant? There on their graves I knelt. 

And prayed that God would give my soul relief 
By taking it — I knew not, cared not where, 
I shudder now, but there is strength in grief. 
And there was nothing then I would not dare. 
It was a strange, a wild, a wicked prayer. 
I tremble now to dream of what I thought. 
I^ow in the mirror I do often stare 



A christian's pilgrimage, 273 

At this strange being, self, with which I've fought, 
Before I had a guide, then when I was untaught. 

Hush, let me hear the voice within my spirit ; 

Oft have I heard it chide my guilty soul. 

I knew not what it was, but now I know it — 

It is the voice of God, and shall control 

My actions, till I reach a heavenly goal. 

It surely will not lead the soul astray. 

But can be heard when waves of passion roll. 

Imploring man to tread the narrow way; 

It tells man when to work, and tells him when to play. 

Ah, now, 'tis time to take myself to task — 

What others do can never injure me. 

A question of my own soul I must ask. 

" Art thou, my spirit, willing to be free ?" 

You have been in the dark, but now you see. 

And " seeing is believing," so 'tis said. 

My heart and soul, ye must learn to agree — 

The voice will speak ; will I by it be lead ? 

My spirit and my heart to this cause must be wed. 

I could plead weakness, but that will not do, 
For God, my Father, is the source of power. 
Will not strength come to me if I am true ? 
Ah, will He not His blessing on me shower ? 
He sends his rain to cheer the drooping flower ; 
The meanest weed receives the strength to grow ; 
Shall man's immortal soul then whine and cower ? 
Because there are things that it can not know ? 
Shall it refuse to move because it must move slow ? 

Two paths are here; which one am I to choose? 

I am no slave who must do this or that. 

I'll freely take or freely will refuse ; 

The soul cannot be forced that's plain and flat. 

Against the good or bad I can combat, — 

Here are the weapons ; all are given free — 



274 A christian's pilgrimage. 

Let me retire to where in youth I've sat ; 
There may be things here that I cannot see — 
I must consider time flows in eternity. 

Tell me that I am not a living man ; 

Teach me to know that children are not born; 

That all that is exists without a plan ; 

That man has learned there is no night, no morn ; 

That love, truth, hope, fear, vice, hate, pride and 

scorn 
Have never dwelt within the human breast! 
Then from my soul that knowledge may be torn 
That Jesus is the Christ, till then I rest 
Contented with the thought that through Him man is 

blessed. 

I could return unto my father's cot, 

And tell him I was grieved that I did hear 

The living words of truth — no, that is not 

The way to do ; that would offend his ear, 

" The Elder preached a lie, my father dear " — 

Yes, that is it (because I know 'twas true) 

" I listened to him, but you need not fear, 

I have repented, and I come to you 

To ask you to forgive me for what I did do." 

" I never will believe another lie ; 

I'm sorry that I caused you so much pain ; 

I'm very sorry that I did not die 

Before I brought upon your house this stain. 

Behold these tears that fall like showers of rain ! 

Oh, will they not, in part at least, atone ? 

I will not do such wicked things again ; 

My sins and sorrows here I frankly own; 

I shall live as I did before these men were known." 

That is the only path there is that leads 

To reconciliation with my friends. 

They are the slaves to forms of empty creeds, 



A christian's pilgrimage. 276 

And every movement that I make oftends — 

"Retrace thy steps and then their hatred ends," 

Yes, cause removed, eftects will often cease — 

The very thought of such an action sends — 

But, hush, that will establish with us peace ; 

I'll find no other way till this mind's powers increase. 

I fear their friendship would be dearly earned — 
I would pay fairly to remove their hate; 
Aye, I would do much for the ones who turned 
Me from their home, as they would an ingrate. 
To me this would be turning from the gate 
Which opens to the path that leads to heaven; 
And sad, indeed, would be my spirit's fate, 
If after testimony had been given. 
It into such a snare should let itself be driven. 

He who has never heard the truth may find 

A good excuse for practicing a lie, 

But when the truth sheds light within his mind. 

Excuses perish, and his reasons die. 

The God who sits enthroned in realms on high, 

Asks not man to create his guiding flame, 

But when 'tis sent him, then the man must try 

To follow it, or justice will him blame; 

No matter where it leads, this truth remains the same* 

That is the ground on which I'm forced to stand. 
Can I unknow that I do know God's will ? 
The torch I hold is not a blazeless brand — 
It may conduct to death, 'tis burning still. 
I close my eyes, then darkness reigns until 
I open them; when light bursts on my gaze. 
The truth has sent through all my soul a thrill ; 
I have the torch, my eyes behold its blaze. 
Were I to keep them closed, my friends the act would 
praise. 



276 A christian's pilgrimage. 

Can I regret that truth to me was sent ? 

'Tis like regretting that I have a home 

Beyond this world of sin and discontent, 

Within the gates of a celestial dome. 

'Tis hard, indeed, from these dear scenes to roam. 

But, oh, I can not, dare not dread to go. 

My bark will lightly press the billow's foam 

That sparkles there like frost on banks of snow — 

What shall I have to fear ? I may not, can not know. 

It is the burning hope of endless life 

That thrills in every drop of youthful blood. 

Which causes me to greet the coming strife. 

And kiss the rod that falls on me for good. 

That man who in his weakness bravely stood, 

And told us sinners that we must repent. 

Spoke as I know no mortal being could 

Who had not by the God of heaven been sent — 

My course to me is clear, and I am now content. 

I can not, and I will not bend the knee, 

!N^or whine and plead to win their loving smiles. 

The Gospel of my God has made me free — 

I've had enough of Satan's snares and wiles. 

And clung too long to that which so defiles. 

Cursed be the friendship that is bought so dear ! 

Its soothing words the guilty soul beguiles. 

And causes it to lose its righteous fear — 

I have no cause to mourn because friends disappear. 

There's not a fault I have, or e'er have had, 

That this heart does not long to lay aside ; 

But part of this, my natural self, is bad. 

And it has oft the better part defied. 

My passions o'er my judgment sometimes ride. 

And thus I have been led in vales of grief ; 

But, with my soul, I'm fighting on Thy side, 

And whether mortal life be long or brief. 

Grant that I there may fight till death brings me relief. 



A CHRISTIAN S PILGRIMAGE. 277 

I never did a wrong that was not wrong, 

ISTor all the powers that be can make it right. 

The spirits that around my soul do throng 

Are all conductors to the dark or light : 

The ones who lead man into gloom of night, 

Not only bid him do the wicked deeds ; 

But when they're done, they try with all their might 

To make him think the fruits on which sin feeds 

Has sweetness in its heart, and virtue in its seeds. 

Oh, let me know the worst of what is bad ! 
And let me know the best of what is good ! 

The kind of deeds that make the spirit sad 

If these are things that can be understood — 
What kind will make me glad, I also would 
Like very much to know, since I must deal 
With deeds ; each day they will on me intrude, 
For I, it seems, am organized to feel 
What each deed doth create— these things are true 
and real. 

Roll on, ye mortal days, I will not mourn 
Because ye pause not in your eager flight. 
I've learned the secret why I have been born, 
And now I'll gladly greet the coming night. 
Since I have felt the rays of heavenly light. 
Life seems to me more than a summer's dream. 
I feel my soul would gladly take its flight. 
Or gladly stay and swim against the stream 
That flows into the sea where truth's star throws no 
beam. 

Roll on, roll on! I weep not, nor rejoice 

Because ye blast my youthful frame with age. 

Within my soul there is a still, small voice 

That will out-live what's writ on Shakespeare's page. 

I care not for the storms of life that rage. 

If I have strength to stand against them all ; 



278 A christian's pilgrimage. 

If not, no power can e'er my griefjassuage, 

But I shall mourn forever o'er my fall, 

For I shall sink too low to hear sweet Mercy's call. 

O, Thou, whose Spirit burned within my soul, 
When first I heard the living truth proclaimed ! 
While life shall last Thy name I will extol, 
Nor can Thy boundless mercy e'er be named. 
'Twas by Thy wondrous power all things were framed, 
And through Thy mercy every tomb shall burst! 
Then loved ones who were lost will all be claimed, 
And weary souls will slake their burning thirst — 
All, all shall understand Thou art the last and first. 

Though this my frame must moulder in the dust, 
And these my soul's bright orbs grow dim with age, 
Thou art my God, in Thee I put my trust, 
Write what Thou wilt on this Thy humble page. 
This world of Thine is likened to a stage ; 
Give me the strength, God, to play my part, 
And when my soul has left its mortal cage, 
Grant it may dwell with Thee and ne'er depart — 
I give Thee all I have, a humble, broken heart. 

When I was weak, and thought that I should faint. 
Thou gave to me the strength that I did need. 
Though I have suffered, I have no complaint — 
I know that to my prayers Thou givest heed : 
'Twas Thou w^ho planted in my soul the seed 
That caused me to approach Thee as I did, 
And though it is o'ershadowed with the weed, 
Its precious fruit is not entirely hid — 
I have found joy and peace in doing as Ye bid. 

Alas! my soul can find no joy in sin; 
Remove it from my spirit, or I die : 
There is a prize in heaven that I would win, 
It is a home in yon bright, starry sky. 
I know that I am weak, but I shall try 



A christian's pilgrimage. 279 

To climb that mount that leads unto Thy Throne. 
To Thee for strength my soul shall ever cry, 
And it shall cultivate what Thou hast sown ; 
I'll subjugate my will, till it becomes Thine own. 

O, Thou, who had no place to lay Thy head, 
Who freely let Thy precious life's blood flow. 
To save the living, and to raise the dead, 
And teach mankind the way that they should go ; 
Be Thou my Guide, that I may ever know 
The narrow way from that dark path of gloom. 
And when I'm weak, wilt Thou on me bestow 
The strength that falters not, e'en at the tomb, 
But bids man gaze beyond this life's sad, seeming 
doom. 

And Thou who sits on yonder gleaming Throne ! 

Far, far beyond the shades of mortal gaze, 

Here on my knees with trembling lips I own 

The justice and the mercy of Thy ways ! 

O'er life's dark path Thy torch shall ever blaze, 

To guide my feet through error's somber night ; 

And when my soul has spent its mortal days, 

When death has chilled my blood and closed my sight, 

From out the silent tomb 'twill guide my spirits' flight. 

Ye blazing orbs of heaven ! I do not kneel 

To worship ye, for ye cannot create. 

With all your glory, ye cannot conceal 

That ye exist in a dependent state. 

But, Thou, Almighty God, who knowest the fate 

Of all things which are animate or dead, 

Here on my knees Thy trembling son doth wait 

For inspiration's lamp to kindly shed 

Its bright, celestial rays in blessings on my head. 

What is this little world with all its life! 

A little more than naught; then what am I ! 

One who can see divinity in strife. 



280 A christia'ns pilgrimage. 

A something that exists, and can not die. 

No world that floats in yon ethereal sky 

Is more immortal than m^' burning soul ; 

Yet when I think of all, in vain I try 

To comprehend the Power that has control 

Of all those gleaming worlds that ever onward roll. 

I almost feel the joys I used to feel 

When roaming through those lovely fields of bliss ; 

When on the cold, damp turf of earth I kneel, 

I keenly feel that that is not like this: — 

Sweet, sweet indeed has been a true love's kiss, 

And sad, how sad I was when we did part ! 

But there's a pang more keen than even this, 

I feel it when I think I might depart. 

And never reach that home I love with all my heart. 

I tremble at the thoughts of going home 

Without performing what I came to do. 

Far sooner would I here a stranger roam, 

Till I can scorn the false and love the true : 

But when I see my spirit's home in view, 

I oft-times long to reach that golden shore, 

Where tears of joy will fall like heaven's dew. 

To know that mortal pains and griefs are o'er; 

That is the only home that man leaves never more. 

Nor can I ever learn to put my trust 

In this my own, or any mortal arm; 

The strongest of them is but withering dust ; 

And never can protect the soul from harm. 

But in God's trust there is a glorious charm 

That all the powers of hell can never break. 

The soul that trusts in Him feels no alarm. 

Though the foundations of the earth may shake; 

Nor this most precious faith the world can give nor 

take. 
I am an outcast, but I do not feel 
That I would give the hope that tills my breast 



A christian's pilgrimage. 281 

For all the wealth that this world can reveal ; 
That hope is that my soul in heaven will rest; 
That is the star that guides me to the west; 
That hope sustains me in this forest wild; 
And makes me feel that I am greatly blessed. 
Although an outcast, I am still God's child, 
And have a claim on Him while I am undefiled. 
When will my pilgrimage come to an end? 
Perchance ten thousand years may pass away, 
And still my steps toward that fair goal tend, 
Still I'll be lead toward celestial day ; . 
But fountains slake my thirst while on my way, 
And fragrant flowers will never cease to bloom ; 
And, nourished by that which will ne'er decay, 
I'll pass that dreary valley of the tomb ; 
My soul, then filled with light, will drive away its gloom 
Thou only Source of ever-streaming light! 
Thou only God my soul can ever praise! 
To Thee alone I owe my spirit's flight 
From its bright home to spend its mortal days: 
Canst Thou forgive a sinner's thoughtless ways? 
I know I came to earth for nobler deeds; 
But I have often left Thy Spirit's blaze, 
To feed on fruits wherein are poisonous seeds. 
And walk in gardens where grow rank the foulest 
weeds. 

Alas ! I know this mortal life must be 
A life where joys and sorrows come and go: 
I know if e'er I come and dwell with Thee, 
'Twill be when I have suffered here below. 
Thy dealings with all men doth clearly show 
That they shall never reach Thy gleamino- throne 
Till they have truly proved, in weal and woe, 
That they love Thee, and that they humbly own 
That all Thy ways are just, e'en those that 
unknown. 



are 



282 A christian's pilgrimage. 

A CHRISTIAN'S PILGRIMAGE. 

Canto The Third. 

(the christian's farewell.) 

How time speeds on! the shades of night have fled ; 
The king of day climbs o'er the distant hills; 
The Christian rises from his forest bed, 
While deep emotion all his being thrills. 
He stands to say farewell, while moisture fills 
The orbs that now must take their final gaze 
On shady groves, and mounts, and meads, and rills — 
This is the last of ten bright, happy days 
That he has spent in song, and prayer, and silent 
praise. 

Ye sparkling brooks ! I never more shall bathe 
My feverish brow in thy cold, crystal stream! 
I never more shall hear thy rippling wave, 
Nor in the moonlight, watch its silvery beam ; 
On thy soft banks I never more shall dream 
Those varied dreams that I shall ne'er forget; 
Had I not learned that things are what they seem 
Upon thy banks I would be dreaming yet. 
Nor would I leave these scenes, till this life's sun 
had set. 

My native hills ! where oft, with bleeding feet, 

I've chased the fawn that bounded o'er thy rocks. 

Or sought among thy caverns safe retreat. 

When forests crashed beneath the thunder shocks ; 

Or, seated on a stone, I've watched the flocks 

That gently nipped the green and tender blades. 

And, musing there, I oft used Fancy's blocks 

To build a mansion in these forest shades. 

Where she and I might dwell, forgetting all that fades. 



A christian's pilgrimage. 283 

When storm-clouds gathered in the distant west, 
And changed their shining robes tor robes of night, 
I've felt a something rising in my breast 
That filled me with a wild and fierce delight; 
And when the storm came on, I knew no fright, 
For in my soul there raged a storm as wild. 
And I have stood in energy and might ! 
I felt that I was an immortal child, 
And part of all that is, that ever frowned or smiled. 

'Twas here I learned that man was not a slave : 
That he was never born to bend the knee. 
Save to that One who bursts the silent grave, 
And brings him forth, immortal, strong and free. 
I read no books that told of liberty, 
But in the winds I heard the patriot's cry : 
'• Behold the conflict 'tween all powers that be ! 
Arm ! arm yourself and fight until you die 
For God, and truth, and right!" — my soul would an- 
swer "I." 

Ye voiceless tongues ! that taught me all I know, 
Tho' it be scorned by man, 'tis dear to me; 
There's not a murmur in the winds that blow, 
Nor leaf that falls from this old, favorite tree 
That does not testify the blessings of the free. 
The hoarse, dull drum of war I never heard, 
Nor ever w^ish to hear, or feel, or see 
Those things that make men scorn the forest bird. 
And crush to death the thoughts that solitude has 
stirred. 

Farewell, ye hills ! a long and last farewell ! 
I'll never more disturb the wild fawn's rest ! 
No voice I have, but these salt tears will tell 
That love like mine can never be expressed; 
It is too great and strong to be confessed, — 
I love thee, native hills! farewell !farewell ! 



284 A christian's pilgrimage. 

'Tis not for gold I turn toward the west ; 

No, gold would never tempt me from this dell; 

From all these happy scenes that I have loved so well. 

Are ye unconscious of the joys ye give 

To one who, absent trom thee, finds no joy ? 

Is it my rising soul that makes ye live 

A life that is so free from all alloy ? 

Do ye not know that death will all destroy. 

Save that which lives artd moves, but is unseen ? 

That this world's prize is but an infant's toy. 

That can not now, and never could I ween. 

Give joy such as is felt within thy shady sheen? 

To me ye are alive and conscious, too, 

And do reciprocate the love I feel. 

Among men friends like ye I never knew, 

And many secrets I do oft conceal 

From all the world, that to ye I reveal ; 

For I have learned that ye confessions keep. 

As sacred treasures ; and ye so appeal 

To all my better nature that I weep 

Pure tears of gushing joy each night before I sleep. 

Forgive me, if this parting makes me weep; 
For those who cast me off, I shed no tear. 
They have been cruel! and m\^ soul shall leap 
Above those feelings which were once so dear. 
But here, 'mid scenes I love, yes, only here 
Shall floods of grief flow from these orbs of light! 
From ye, thy lover soon shall disappear! — 
With ye, I ne'er will spend another night; 
Ten minuts scarce shall pass, when ye fade from my 
sight. 

Farewell, ye lovely vales ! a long farewell! 
While time shall be, I shall not see thee more; 
But there's no spot where mortal beings dwell 
That I shall e'er one half so much adore. 



A christian's pilgrimage. 285 

Farewell ! my dreams within thy shades are o'er; 
The time has come ! I can no longer stay. 
O, Father ! guide me from my native shore, 
And keep my feet within the narrow way ! 
Farewell! farewell ! farewell! my God I must obey ! 



A CHEISTIAN'S PILGRIMAGE. 

Canto the Fourth. 

Since Adam fell this world has been a scene 
Of contrasts and confusion, and we find 
That many things are still as they have been, 
For seeds in every age produce their kind. 
There is no garden like the human mind ; 
It is not sterile; something there must grow ; 
Around the soul of each there are entwined 
Vines that produce a fruit which all may know ; 
That which we cultivate with fire of life will glow. 

'Tis well that Adam ate forbidden fruit, 
Tho' when he ate it he committed sin. 
He planted in the earth death's poisonous root. 
But that is better than not to have been. 
The man who can a crown of glory win. 
Will not be grieved because he had to die. 
It is a conquest gained, when men begin 
To realize that He who rules on high 
Has made no grand mistake, nor taught this world 
a lie. 

Contention and confusion fill the world. 
And many a bloody battle has been fought, — 
Aye, and the shafts of death must still be hurled. 
But something from this chaos will be wrought. 
Men still are seeking what their fathers sought ; 



286 A christian's pilgrimage. 

But let them seek ; give every soul a chance. 
Leave it unfettered in both deed and thought — 
Life is no dream ; we are not in a trance ; 
The great all-seeing eye still beams with fiery glance. 

Men ought to know what God would have them do, 

For He knows best of all what should be done. 

He never told men that which was not true, 

Kor has the light of revelation's sun — 

Tho' dark have been the vales it shone upon — 

Conducted man to vales of pain and grief. 

It is a light that leads mankind to shun 

Life's pitfalls, and brings to the soul relief; 

It makes this life seem real, although it is but brief. 

It would be well with it if this wise world 

Would manifest the fact that it is wise, 

Beforel the fiery shafts of hate are hurled 

Against that which no being need despise. 

The Truth is bold, and scorns to wear disguise; 

But Wisdom never fights against the truth ; 

The world does, and the haughty "prince of lies" 

Is now a smiling and engaging youth; 

But Truth is dressed in rags, unpolished and uncouth. 

God told those who received the truth to go 
And preach the Gospel to poor, fallen man. 
That all the peoples of this world might know 
That there had been ordained a saving plan. 
Xow, this is how the wondrous work began, 
And he who is the hero of my tale, 
Keceived the truth, and fast the rumor ran — 
For rumor speeds as does the summer gale — 
That his poor soul was lost, and loud his friends did 
rail. 

If lost were being found, he would be lost ; 
And would that all the world were lost awhile. 
Lost from those pleasures that have always cost 



A christian's pilgrimage. 287 

The sacritice of God's approving smile; 
Lost from those sins that tarnish and delile 
The being who is something more than man; 
Lost to those flatteries that oft beguile 
The soul to waste the life that is a span, 
The day that should be spent in tracing out God's 
plan. 

A boy once lived who thought he had a soul — 

This is not strange, for most boys think the same — 

And that there was a God who did control 

The destinies of all that has a name. 

This boy was Joseph Smith, and is the same 

Who poured his stream of life upon the ground. 

To prove to every soul that has a frame 

That God conducted him to what he found, 

And that his spirit soared above earth's little mound. 

The ruddy drops of life have oft been spilled. 
And spirits oft have burst their moulds of clay ; 
But not one germ of truth has yet been killed, 
Nor has the power of right grown old and gray. 
These are things that the sword can never slay; 
They are the flowers that, like the soul, will bloom 
When empires have been crushed and swept away. 
And light of worlds is changed to midnight gloom; 
They were not born to sleep within the dismal tomb. 

Now o'er the deep, blue sea the vessel speeds; 
The scenes the Christian loves are lost to sight. 
Engrossed in silent thought, he scarcely heeds 
The lowering gloom that wraps the world in night. 
But in his soul there shines a brilliant light — 
The light that shines within a conscience clear, 
He having done that which he knew was right, 
Forsaken all that natural man holds dear, 
And bravely facing that which stronger men might 
fear. 



288 A christian's PILCJRIMAGE. 

But thousands have done this for love of truth — 
Aye, and they yet will do much more than this. 
There is no royal path for age or youth 
To those Elysian vales of perfect bliss. 
He who would iind his life must fondly kiss 
The cold, pale lips of death, the chastening rod, 
And pass through vales where poisonous serpents hiss. 
Before he shines before the living God — 
Without his Father's help no man could tread this 
sod. 

Much marveled all to see the Christian sad — 

For sufferings wrote pale sadness on his face — 

The trial had been severe, but then it had 

Prepared him to receive the Gospel grace. 

Receiving truth does not at once deface 

Those traits by which each living man is known. 

The gospel seed within his soul found place. 

And by the hand of God it had been sown. 

But, then, the Gospel plant was not yet fully grown. 

The pride that had been wounded was not killed ; 
The treatment he received was not forgot ; 
And even now his haughty spirit thrilled 
With indignation at some sudden thought : 
With all the strength he had, he bravely fought 
Against the feelings that he knew were wrong ; 
For, little as he knew, he had been taught 
While in the woods that evil powers would throng 
Around him to destroy his soul with tempting song. 

Within his soul there was much that was good — 
What he had done was proof that this was true. 
For baseness would not stand where he had stood, 
Nor pass through that which he had just passed 

through. 
In this wide world there are but very few 
Who will receive the message he received. 



A christian's pilgrimage. 289 

Since in the midst of heaven that angel tievv, 
How very few there are who have believed ! 
And this wise world to-day claims those few are 
deceived. 

The best of seeds require the best of soil, 

That they may manifest intrinsic power; 

Besides the tender care and patient toil 

Of him who would enjoy the fragrant flower. 

They must receive the sunshine and the shower, 

And then they will send forth their tiny shoots ; 

But they require attention every hour, 

That healthy life might flow through all their roots. 

Then virtue of the seed is tested by its fruits. 

How, then, can we believe the Gospel seed 

Will grow without 'tis planted in good soil! 

Ov thrive in gardens where the foulest weed 

Is nourished by the absence of hard toil ! 

The blood of passion must not burn and boil 

In him who would the Gospel's power test ; 

He must apply the will-power's healing oil, 

And give the seed a chance within his breast, 

Then, if it does not grow, seek not on earth for rest. 

In that strange garden called the human soul. 
There have been planted many kinds of seeds. 
The man who does not labor to control 
His garden, may expect to raise some weeds. 
E'en he who toils to kill the life that feeds 
On other life, which wisdom bids him save, 
Is often pained, his heart with sorrow bleeds 
To see the choicest life fall in the grave. 
While that which he would kill sinks not beneath 
death's wave. 

Before the Gospel seed in man is sown. 

There is some cultivating to be done; 

And many plants that have within him grown 



290 A christian's pilgrimage. 

Must now be withered by truth's blazing sun. 

'Tis right that tears of true repentance run, 

For they will be the spirit garden's dew, 

To nourish seeds that wickedness will shun. 

Seeds that will kill out all vile plants that grew — 

Man must forsake the false to learn to love the true. 

The garden of the soul is fertile ground : 

All kinds of seeds can there be made to grow : 

Oh, would that precious seed by all were found. 

The fruit ot which would heal all pain and woe ! 

Alas ! this world with all its dazzling show 

Is feeding on the fruits that always kill. 

Men gorge themselves, when in their souls they know 

(An outraged conscience will with warning thrill) 

That death has stricken all who ate of it their till. 

If nothing but the Gospel seed e'er grew 

Within the fertile garden of the mind. 

And it received the sunshine and the dew 

That God would freely give to all mankind. 

You might explore that garden and not find 

The sable shadow of a single reed ; 

But flowers of the fairest, choicest kind 

Would wave where now there waves the sterile weed. 

To testify to all the virtue of their seed. 

When men do wrong they break the Gospel's law. 

Were this not true, that law would sanction wrong; 

But in its plan there's not the slightest flaw, 

And all the truth to this plan doth belong. 

'Tis strange that 'tis rejected by the throng; 

'Tis more than strange, it is a dreadful thing ; 

For they refuse to hear a sweeter song — 

A song that all the angels love to sing — 

Than ever trembled on the lips of happy Spring. 

But, then, a glorious promise has been made, 
A promise that should dry the mourner's tear. 



A christian's pilgrimage. 291 

And gild with mellow gold the dreary shade 

That hovers o'er the soul that lingers here ; 

A promise that should drive away all fear, 

And heal the wound that sufiering has made sore ; 

A promise that the weary soul holds dear ; 

It thinks of it when clouds of midnight lower, 

And there, within the soul, it shines when storms are 

o'er. 
The hoarse, dull drum of war shall cease to beat; 
The voice of God will hush the cannon's roar; 
The armies of the earth will all retreat. 
And study arts of bloody war no more ; 
The Dove of Truth o'er all the world will soar. 
And Virtue's Queen shall reign o'er every soul, 
Loved ones shall meet where partings will be o'er ; 
The bell of grief will peal its final toll — 
Koll on ye waves of time that bear us to that goal! 
Ye who are cast in dark and dreary cells. 
Because ye dared to list to God's command. 
Remember He who in yon heaven dwells 
Has said that truth is mighty and will stand. 
The storms of death must sweep o'er every land; 
The deep foundations of the earth must shake ; 
The breath of sin now fans the smouldering brand 
That melts earth's greatness, as a silvery flake 
Is melted when it stoops to kiss the fretting lake. 

Ye who have been denied a husband's care, 
Remember every tear that ye have shed 
Has been recorded as a silent prayer, 
By Him who on the cross of Calvary bled. 
Gaze not upon the darkest clouds with dread ; 
There is a sun that shines behind them all ; 
Ye soon shall gaze when clouds of gloom have fled ; 
Ye soon shall hear the soul-inspiring call 
That rings, in silvery tones, through death's remotest 
hall. 



292 A christian's pilgrimage. 

The tale is sad ; it never can be told ; 
No mortal can record what ye have felt. 
And ye demand of justice more than gold, 
And more than gold of them who this blow dealt. 
It can not be in vain that ye have knelt 
Before the God of heaven in humble prayer. 
The chains that bind your loved ones yet shall melt ; 
They will come forth and breathe the balmy air 
That should be breathed by all God's children, dark 
and fair. 

Ah, Christian, you are sailing to a land 

Where rights of man are trodden in the dust. 

But you have some experience on hand, 

And know where man should place confiding trust. 

Play well thy part; the ways of God are just, 

But there are many trials that you will meet. 

Your powers of soul will not corrode with rust; 

The test, though strong, has not yet been complete — 

Sail on toward the west; you must not now retreat. 

The ship sailed on ; four times the shades of night 

Had driven the sunshine from the silvery wave. 

The orb of day again is lost to sight, 

And waves of gloom on ocean's bosom lave. 

The moon and stars refuse the light they gave 

Before, when brilliant day drew to its close. 

Now, seamen, hastily prepare to brave 

The storm that threatens to disturb repose 

Of all the life that sleeps where ocean's water Hows. 

The inky clouds are gathering thick and fast, 
And far away the thunders faintly roll ; 
But not a breath portends the dreadful blast 
That soon all powers of ocean will control. 
The king of silence reigns from pole to pole, 
And human hearts are hushed in awful dread. 
It is a moment when the human soul 



A christian's pilgrimage. 293 

Explores the dreary regions of the dead, 

And strives to trace its flight from ocean's lowly bed. 

'Tis past, 'tis past ! The pregnant storm-clouds burst. 

And hurl their sable streams through darkling air! 

The scorching lightnings quench their burning thirst, 

While darting through the gloom with tiery glare! 

Now many a soul that never breathed a prayer 

Is wildly calling on its God to save ; 

And many an eye is fixed in stony stare, 

While gazing on the dark and dreary wave 

That soon shall roll above the gazer's lowly grave. 

Hark! hark! The deep-toned thunders wildly crash, 
And torrents hurl themselves into the deep! 
While through the gloom the vivid lightning's flash 
Reveals an angry ocean woke from sleep ! 
Like lofty mountains maddened billows leap. 
And wave their snowy banners in the air! 
But this calms not those who now groan and weep ; 
They breathe the very breath of dark despair — 
If faith bears prayers to heaven, then theirs still linger 
there. 

One soul was there that was not bowed with grief; 
One heart there was that did not throb with fear; 
One spirit thrilled with more than mere belief 
That sunshine would its mortal vision cheer. 
The Christian was surprised and shocked to hear 
The pleading cries of men he thought were strong ; 
And, as within his soul faith's lamp shone clear. 
He rose, and thus addressed the cowering throng. 
Whose cries had swelled the dirge of angry Nature's 
Song : 

" The God I worship rules this raging storm ; 
And this vast, liquid waste it woke from sleep 
Is but a mirror that reflects His form ; 
'Tis by His will these angry waves now leap. 



294 A christian's pilgrimage. 

O know ye not His footprints mark the deep ! 
And that He makes the fiercest storm His car ! 
Ye all are Christians, yet ye groan and weep 
As though ye knew not who and what ye are ; 
And never had been taught to gaze on faith's bright 
star. 

" Were it the will of God that we should sleep 
Beneath these angry and contending waves, 
They have not power our frames to longer keep 
Than if we did escape their cheerless graves. 
Ye Christians should be men, not cowering slaves, 
Who dare not look Death's Angel in the face. 
If he near this our struggling wreck now laves. 
Let us be Christians, and with Christian grace 
Say : ' On this liquid waste now ends our mortal 
race.' " 

The Christian paused ; he had been angered by 
The cries of men that danger had made less 
Than they who knew not that our Lord did die 
That we might not shrink from Death's cold caress. 
He after to his own soul did confess 
That he had known the vessel would not sink; 
But he his thoughts in this disguise did dress 
That each might from his guilty conscience shrink. 
And on his empty form of true religion think. 

One day, when praying in his native wood, 

That his then darkened path would be made clear. 

An angel of the Lord before him stood. 

And bade him chase away all doubt and fear; 

He told him that the time was drawing near 

When he would press the Zion's verdant sod ; 

And it would be a home to him more dear 

Than e'en the one his childhood's feet had trod; 

"Forget it not," he said, "I came to you from God." 



A christian's pilgrimage. 295 

The angel's form shone bright before his gaze, 
And in his God he placed confiding Irust. 
He did rejoice, for he had sought for days 
To prove to God that he believed Him just. 
He now had shown this promise did not rust 
Within his breast, but there it burned a flame, 
Until his flesh seemed withering into dust; 
Such power has the spirit o'er the frame. 
When it is filled with thoughts which mortals cannot 
name. 

To think of this he thought there would be need. 
And when this wild, tempestuous storm arose. 
His heart rejoiced, while other hearts did bleed ; 
His mortal day he knew would not here close. 
And he was whispering words of hope to those 
Who sat around him, when this Christian yell 
Burst on his ears, and instinctively chose 
He this one moment to the whole crew tell 
That death should not be feared by those who lived so 
well. 

forjudge him harsh ye who may read this tale. 
Since here religion's suns shed forth no light; 
Before a lowering cloud their lights did fail, 
Tho' millions toil to keep them burning bright. 
Religion's sun should shine forth in the night. 
When Death's Angel doth ride upon the wave; 
Until the world beyond bursts on the sight 
Of him who sinks into a watery grave; 
If they can not do this, where are their powers to save? 

What is religion, if it cannot calm 

The soul in such a dreadful hour as this ? 

If in it there is found no healing balm. 

How, then, can it exalt to perfect bliss? 

If it cannot teach man to fondly kiss 

The lips of Death as trembling lips of love. 



296 A christia'ns pilgrimage. 

Then it is not of value and they miss 
But little who refuse to look above, 
And scorn the comfort brought by God's celestial 
dove. 

Oh, who would launch his bark upon that sea 
O'er which the winds of hate have ever blown, 
And ever will till time shall cease to be. 
If an eternal shore were not made known ? 
The way to heaven has been so clearly shown, 
And its vale shines with such celestial light, 
That had each foot been paved with burning stone, 
While heaven's sun illumed their withering sight, 
There are those who would tread that path of truth 
and right. 

This is the comfort true religion brings; 
It is not like a wild and restless bird 
That in the hour of danger takes to wings. 
Without the power to breathe a cheering word; 
It does not leave men like a frightened herd. 
But stays with them in trial's darkest hour ; 
And all their better nature will be stirred 
By its inspiring and exalting power ; 
It cheers the drooping soul as dew-drops cheer the 
flower. 

When worldly stars of hope have sunk in gloom, 
And man falls in the pit of dark despair. 
Religion's star illumes that living tomb. 
And bids man lift his voice to God in prayer. 
I ask the souls of all who have knelt there, 
If bleeding wounds have not been quickly healed? 
But all ye must abandon hope who dare 
To part that chain by which truth is revealed, 
For truths that all should know will ibe from you con- 
cealed. 



A christian's pilgrimage. 297 

III calm or storm, in poverty or wealth, 

111 blooming youth, or faltering, fading age; 

When tried with sickness, or when blessed with health, 

In any part that's played on life's great stage. 

This truth should burn upon the glowing page 

Of that immortal book that's called the soul, 

That man is not placed in an iron cage 

Where will is chained and cannot have control ; 

Man treads unchained and free toward a shining goal. 

** * * * *** 

The land the Christian seeks is not the land 
That fancy placed before his eager gaze. 
Man must live by his faith, if he would stand ; 
The light within must be his guiding blaze. 
Yes, revelation's sun must shed its rays 
In every soul; that light must be his guide. 
Faith must not rest on weak man's shiftless ways. 
But every soul must pull against the tide 
That bears so many down where evil souls reside. 

Why should I sin because another sins? 
Why should I fall because another falls? 
The soul that's faithful is the one that wins ; 
It is to me my Father's Spirit calls. 
I wish to save the fruits within the walls 
Of mine own garden, then, what shall I do ? 
If e'er my spirit finds those brilliant halls, 
Where will reside the humble and the true, 
'Twill be because it stood alone, or with the few. 

Ah, Zion, seems to me the brightest word 

That ever shone before my mortal eyes; 

And when 'tis breathed, it seems the sweetest word 

That ever fell from archives of the skies. 

It may be scorned by those the world calls wise ; 

But, ah, its meaning is to them unknown — 

The humble love that which the proud despise ; 

And many love, and are too proud to own 

Thatiwhich|will never sit upon pride's dazzling throne. 



298 A christian's pilgrimage. 

And Zion is a lovely, peaceful vale. 

There is no place on earth so dear to me ; 

But, then, I know the Christian will not faix 

To see that which will make him weep to see. 

We mortals are not what we ought to be — 

The fairest vales can be defiled with sin ; 

But Zion from all grossness should be free; 

She can not shine without, until within. 

Shines that celestial light that truth and virtue win. 

The followers of Jesus seldom dwell 

In stately halls, in vales of perfect bliss. 

He who we all profess to love so well 

lias taught us not to look nor hope for this. 

Gaunt poverty oft gives a sweeter kiss 

Than rosy lips of ever-smiling wealth. 

The Saints must tread where demons howl and hiss, 

And walk upright where others crawl with stealth ; 

Praise God in dark or light, in sickness or in health. 

The seeds of good that in the soul are sown 

Lie dormant when the soul is free from care. 

E'en like small grains that in deep caves are thrown. 

Where they can not receive the light and air. 

Hence chosen men walk not through vales that's fair; 

But they must scale the mountains high and steep. 

And face that which no other mortals dare. 

They are the shepherds, not the guarded sheep. 

And if they are untrue, then, thousands oft will weep. 

The cities of the Saints have been defiled — 

Xot by the Saints, but by a motley crew 

Who have by Satan been so far beguiled 

That there is nothing wrong they would not do. 

What they have told the world is all untrue. 

But much of it is by the world believed. 

Now, here we are; the world can come and view; 

Then it will know that it has been deceived. 

And if it has a heart, it surely will be grieved. 



A christian's pilgrimage. . 299 

Perfection has not built herself a home 
Upon a planet where weak mortals dwell ; 
She lives where brip^ht, celestial beings roam— 

We have not known her, yet we love her well 

We do not weep because our father fell, 
. But say his fall brought sin into world. 
We are his children, and the tale we tell 
Is that we once consented to be hurled, 
Where flags of different hues to us Avould be unfurled. 
The prophet feeds upon the stream of life 
That pours itself into his mother's breast; 
Within his soul there is that deadly strife 
That oft disturbs him when he fain would rest. 
There is no prophet who has not confessed 
His weakness ; and we do not, can not claim 
That those have been most divinely blessed, 
Have ever felt entirely free from blame, 
While they have lived on earth and bore a morta 
name. 

Their actions speak, my humble muse is mute, 
Their history shines like some celestial star. 
And like a star, it yet shall dart and shoot 
In waves of light to regions near and far. 
When all things shall be seen e'en as they are. 
Then men will gaze upon its glowing page, 
And read of honors gained in moral war. 
Until they will exclaim : " Yes, earth's a stage. 
Great actors are unknown until their actions ae-e '* 

CI * 

God does not build his sons celestial homes; 

He gives them tools, and shows them how to toil. 

The soul can never die, but it becomes 

A brilliant light through burning proper oil ; 

Let it upon its living self recoil. 

And though it lives and moves about for aye, 

'Tis like a seed that's planted in a soil 

Which never feels the cheering light of day; 

Its life has not the strength to wave above its clav. 



300 A christian's pilgrimage. 

Too many come to Zion with the hope 

Of resting 'neath her garden's shady bowers ; 

Forgetting that they here will have to cope 

With spirits who are given mighty powers. 

E'en as the bee extracts from fairest flowers, 

The most delicious of the many sweets, 

So Satan with his flattery devours 

That which before his naked form retreats ; 

And those he dare not fight he very oft defeats, 

Shall those who come to Zion fall asleep ! 

Can they believe the victory has been won, 

Because they dared to make their parents weep; 

Because they left a mother or a son V 

Is this all that's required ? Has all been done ? 

Oh, who could not win such an easy prize ! 

The swiftest will not win, but those who run 

As long as heaven's light illumes their eyes; 

The soul will have to toil until the body dies. 

Tis well our fathers felt not as they feel. 

When they beheld the barren Deseret ; 

When they had fled before the glistening steel 

Of those who plunged so deep in Justice's debt 

I fear the desert would be desert yet; 

The red man still would have his wigwam here ; 

And those who now are free, in chains would fret ; 

Night's waves would shroud the sky which now is clear; 

The waves of gloom would roll o'er life's sea dark and 

drear. 
The sage-brush would be growing where the corn 
Is rustling in the pure and balmy breeze; 
The king of day bathed in the floods of morn 
Would never flash his silver through yon trees ; 
Those maidens who are resting there at ease — 
Ah, they would be where lovely spirits dwell, 
Without those charms which so attract and please — 
We love them all the more because they fell 
From their celestial homes — we love them — ah, too well. 



A christian's pilgrimage. 301 

Is there a heart that does not throb with joy 

In gazuig on the beauties of this vale ! 

We hear it oft, but time can not destroy 

The sweetness of that oft-repeated tale. 

Zion shall live ; her strength shall never fail — 

Unless the throne of God shall fall to dust — 

The flag that now is floating in the gale 

Shall never more from Zion's hand be thrust ; 

In heaven it yet shall wave o'er the immortal just ! 

The Christian will be welcome to this land ; 

The golden gates of Zion are ajar. 

God grant that he may have the strength to stand 

Until he shines before the judgment bar. 

'Tis sad, indeed, that men have traveled far 

Along the path that leads them to their God, 

Who cease to gaze on faith's celestial star. 

Let go their hold upon the " iron rod," 

To tread the dreary paths that honor never trod. 

I know that Zion welcomes every man 
Who has the love of God within his soul. 
The Saints are tracing out their Maker's plan ; 
The warning voice must sound from pole to pole. 
The Saints have seen their spirit's shining goal. 
To reach it they must do their Father's will. 
The world may sleep, but warning's bell must toll ; 
Those who were faithful must be faithful still — 
The Captain of the right has all his soldiers drill. 

The king who sits upon his gleaming throne, 
While God-like beings crouch beneath his feet. 
Must know an angel to the earth has flown ; 
He must be told to seek a safe retreat. 
He can select the bitter or the sweet ; 
Remain to see his kingdom crushed to dust, 
Or sacrifice his high, exalted seat. 
And learn, like common men, to place his trust 
In Him whose ways, though strange, are merciful and 
just. 



302 A christia'ns pilgrimage. 

Men leave their homes and go into the world 
To preach a doctrine that men hate to hear; 
And gleaming darts of hate are at them hurled, 
But still they do not falter, do not fear. 
^Vhen enemies before them do appear, 
They boldly tell them that they have been sent 
To warn the world that peace will disappear ; 
That they who now rejoice will soon lament, 
Unless of wicked ways they speedily repent. 

Enough — and much too long is my digression. 
The Christian has been left too long alone ; 
But I shall make to him my own confession. 
And trust my future efforts will atone — 
I beg the reader's pardon — had I known 
That he, my hero, was so far behind, 
Back to my task my spirit would have flown. 
But as it is, I sometimes let my mind 
Roam where it loves to roam, untrammelled, uncon- 
fined. 

But though I pause, the vessel speeds along ; 
And tears of joy have bathed each pallid cheek. 
The breeze is laden with the waves of song : 
The haughty sailor now is kind and meek, 
'Tis danger teaches man that he is weak — 
They all, save one, had seen their watery graves; 
And now each act, each look doth plainly speak 
Of gratitude to Him who hushed the waves. 
And snatched them, as they owned, from cold and 
cheerless graves. 

And fervently they press the Christian's hand; 
While many bathed it with their gushing tears. 
They wondered why it was that he could stand 
In such an hour, free from all doubts and fears. 
The Christian's sadness quickly disappears ; 
His soul is filled with happiness and love — 
Such moments will be known by him who hears 



A christian's pilgrimage. 303 

The liquid voice of that celestial dove 

That flutters in the souls of those who gaze above. 

These moments are short spells of perfect bliss, 

When every cell is flowing o'er with joy ; 

When powers of good embrace you with a kiss, 

Until your soul seems free from all alloy. 

You stand with God, where nothing can destroy; 

The Holy Ghost is shining in your soul. 

What is there that exists that can annoy, 

When every thought is under the control 

Of One who will direct man to a heavenly goal? 

The vessel speeds along, the day is past; 
IS'ight, clothed in sable robes, begins her reign ; 
Her orb'ed queen illumes the ocean vast; 
Her sentinels begin their watch again. 
Still faster speeds the vessel o'er the main : 
The moon-beams mingle with the flaky foam, 
And float upon the waves, a silvery train. 
As on the Christian speeds far from his home, 
The mountains and the vales o'er which he loved to 
roam. 

Sleep, Christian, sleep; this night will be the last 
That you will spend upon the restless sea. 
The perils of the voyage all are past, 
You soon shall mingle with the brave and free. 
The blessings of our fathers wait for thee ; 
The flag shall wave its glory o'er thy head ; 
But when you reach this land of liberty, 
Forget not that our noble fathers bled. 
That freedom's cause might live when they were with 
the dead. 

Forget not, when thy feet press freedom's soil, 
That it has drunk the crimson stream of life. 
Which flowed in veins where freedom's sap did boil. 
And plunged men headlong in that deadly strife ; 



304 A christian's pilgrimage. 

Forget not He who drew the gleaming knife 

That severed every bond which bound a slave, 

Is He who gave the breath that blew the fife, 

And is the same who bursts the dismal grave; 

He framed the glorious plan that will our spirits save. 

All honor to the ever honored dead ; 
Sweet is the garland of immortal fame ! 
A wreath of gold shall cling around each head, 
When all things fade which have a mortal name. 
When spirit glows within immortal frame, 
When Jesus Christ rules o'er this fallen world, 
'Twill then be known why brave men overcame, 
And why the tyrant has to death been hurled — 
Aye, why that streaming flag was to the breeze un- 
furled. 

There are no chains like those strong chains of death ; 
There is no cavern like the dismal grave : 
We mortals take a few short gasps for breath, 
Then pass away, no power on earth can save. 
The rich, the poor, the king, the prince, the slave, 
All take their chambers in death's silent halls. 
Death's flag o'er Life's dominion proudly waves ; 
The Angel ne'er forgets, he always calls — 
The giant stands, he stoops, he totters, ah, he falls! 

But Jesus Christ stands on the dismal tomb; 

Death's chains are burst, and trampled 'neathHis feet. 

His presence drives away the waves of gloom ; 

His trumpet sounds and Death's forces retreat. 

Death's sable flag falls trailing in the street ; 

He waves the streaming flag of life on high ; 

The resurrection drum in haste is beat ! 

And withered forms spring forth from where they lie; 

The victory is complete, man never more shall die ! 

** * * * * ** 

1890-91. 



LRBJ< 



/o 



